


Consequences

by treenahasthaal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Horror, No Slash, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 52,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/pseuds/treenahasthaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An intense burst of light and a vicious blow to his left shoulder sent him spinning violently backward and he fell...</p><p>What if Luke hadn't made it off the Death Star immediately following Kenobi's death?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this story for many years and came from a very vivid dream...
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not pretend to have a right to use these characters. I just borrow them, play for a while and give them back. The only profit I make is the fun I have.

**Consequences**

**Part One**

An intense burst of light and a vicious blow to his left shoulder sent him spinning violently backward and he fell, thudding his forehead against the smooth polished floor as he landed roughly and skidded several metres across the hanger bay before coming to rest sprawled on his stomach.

 

For a while there was silence and darkness. 

 

“Kid! Kid?” A man’s voice.

 

“Luke!” A girl’s voice.

 

Voices from the shadows; shouting in desperation. He forced his eyes open saw his blood-speckled hand lying on the floor near his face. He moved his fingers; smiled and let the shadows claim him.

 

“Luke?”

 

“Leave him, he’s dead!”

 

The voices again, dragging him from warm oblivion. Then other sounds crowding his hearing, clamouring to be heard and understood. Noises, all around him. The roar of an engine firing, the singing of blaster bolts, more shouts.

 

“We have to leave, Princess!”

 

“We can’t abandon him!”

 

“We’ve no choice! Get up there!  Chewie close the hatch!”

 

He heard clattering footsteps from off to the side, heard the hatch of a ship slam shut and listened as the vessel rose from its resting place and roared from the hanger. He knew he should be doing something. There was an urgency nagging at the back of his mind, but he could do nothing to counter the lethargy that shrouded his body and consciousness as darkness descended once more.

 

Within the gloom there was a tiny flicker of light. It grew larger, brighter. It strobed quicker with a sudden series of snap shot pictures. It was like a faulty holo projector suddenly jumping from scene to scene; the grey floor he was lying on, his hand resting nearby, the blood spots scattered on his skin now starting to run. 

 

A white armoured boot stepping next to his twitching fingers.

 

Then there were feelings; a faint breeze of cycling air that ruffled his hair, the coolness of the floor against his face, a trickled of liquid that trailed across his forehead and gathered at his eye, hands grabbing him by his arms and clothes and roughly turning him over, a sudden flaring pain from his shoulder that drew a tight cry of protest from him.

 

 And the noises, the snap shots and the feelings suddenly made terrifying sense.

 

“We’ve got a live one, sir!”

 

Luke blinked blood from his eyes as he looked up in horror at the stormtroopers around him and images from the last few hours swiftly returned to him; the droids, his aunt and uncles’ deaths, Ben and the revelation that his father had been a Jedi Knight. He remembered the flight to Alderaan with the Corellian and the Wookiee, the battle station, the Princess and the fight to free her. He glanced to the side to where the Millennium Falcon had rested and was both relieved and dismayed to find the ship gone. The Princess was safe but he was wounded and alone.

 

“Bring him,” a hollow voice barked. “Lord Vader will want to deal with him himself.”

 

_Vader?_

 

He was roughly hauled to his feet with no regard for his blaster or head injuries and pushed forward. He stumbled as his legs failed him and he fell to his knees. He was pulled upright once more, his arms firmly locked on either side by two troopers who half dragged, half carried him between them toward the door he had blasted shut after Ben had been killed.

 

His head thrummed with pain, his heart pounded with terror. He squeezed his eyes shut against it all, trying desperately to drive the pain back, to quiet his dread. His stomach rolled with nausea and he gagged, feeling faint and wretched.

 

The soldiers carrying him stopped and Luke put his feet down, trying to gain some control of himself, of his body and his feelings and he opened his eyes, blinked rapidly to clear away the blood that trickled from his head wound as his boots found purchase on the floor.

 

There as a soft rumble, a slight scrapping as the blast door opened, and Luke found himself quietly impressed that they had managed to bypass the damaged controls so quickly. He kept his gaze to floor as he was taken through the door and grimaced as he saw Ben's robes lying in a heap, his feet catching on the discarded cloth as he was dragged on.

 

 _Ben…_ He thought helplessly. _Ben…_

 

"My Lord Vader! The prisoner."

 

It was then Luke became aware of another sound; a measured, hollow mechanical resonance not unlike the noise a vaporator makes at night as it draws in the cool evening air to circulate the condenser unit before releasing it. Only this sound was quicker, this sound was more like breathing and, interested to find the source, he lifted his head to see the tall, dark bulk of the man who had killed Ben turn to regard him with empty black eye lenses. He had seen Darth Vader on the Holonet - though Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had usually found an excuse for him to leave the room, or change the channel - but seeing him stand but a metre away sent new tendrils of terror coursing through his nervous system.

 

 _"Be calm, Luke."_ A soft breeze whispered.

 

What? He turned from Vader looking for the source of the words, but saw only troopers and blank corridor walls. He rapidly blinked away more blood, tasted it on his tongue as it trickled over his lips.

 

Darth Vader had stooped and picked up the hilt of Kenobi's sword - much like Kenobi had done with his own so many years before on Mustafar. He turned the sword in his hand studying the hilt with cool curiosity. 

 

 _This sword is your life!_  

 

Kenobi's voice mocked him. This sword he now held had helped end his life. This sword and the man who had wielded it had hacked him to pieces and left him to burn on hot black sand. But it was truly over now; he could rest his desires for retribution. Kenobi was dead and the sword would be his trophy to the final demise of the Jedi Order.

 

"My Lord Vader," A voice interrupted his thoughts. "The Prisoner."

 

_"Vader…"_

 

He turned at the whisper, fingers unconsciously tightening on the hilt of Kenobi's sword at the murmur within the Force, a murmur that sounded very like…. and he caught sight of the small figure the troopers had dragged before him.

 

"What is this," he drawled, frowning behind his mask, allowing his optical sensors to adjust to the approaching group.  The troopers' prisoner was small, bloodied from a gash at his hairline and trembling with fright and pain, but as he spoke the Rebel raised his head and glared at him with open defiance. He was young, merely a child, and was dressed in simple cotton garments much like the clothes worn on…

 

_Tatooine…_

 

The ship had been reported as having blasted its way out of Mos Eisley and evading the pursuing cruisers. The ship had been carrying the Rebel droids and had brought Kenobi to him. It seems it had also brought this youth. This boy who looked as though he had only just been dragged off the moisture farm. He shrugged to himself; appearances could be deceptive, even at a young age this Rebel may be a seasoned traitor.

 

"He was shot while trying to escape with the others, my lord, we thought that you would…"

 

Vader waved the trooper quiet while regarding the captive. The boy’s eyes never left him and naked anger played over his features, raw hatred rolled through the Force and…

 

There was strength there. A purity of feelings. It was a presence in the Force the like of which he had not felt for almost two decades.

 

This boy, this Rebel, was Jedi!

 

"Kill him!" He spat in horror and fury.

 

The boy started at the order, eyes widening in terror and he struggled as the soldiers forced him to his knees, as a blaster was raised to the back of his head.

 

Luke's knees stuck the floor, an armoured hand was placed on his head, forcing it down and he heard a blaster being cocked. The white noise of panic filled his mind. He was going to die now. Going to die at the orders of the man who had killed his father, Ben and whose troops had killed his guardians. Unthinking, just feeling, he heard himself speak.

 

"I hate you…"

 

The voice was quiet, the declaration a few simple words, said in simple tones. But the emotions behind it, the ripple it caused within the Force, shook Vader. "Wait!" He ordered before he even realised he had spoken again.

 

The boy had used the words he had uttered on Mustafar as Kenobi had turned and left him to burn. There had been no mercy from his old Master, there should be no mercy now for this rebel, this Jedi.

 

And yet, the youth had been with Kenobi, he may be Kenobi's pupil - although his talent felt raw, felt untapped and unused. Perhaps his greatest vengeance on the Jedi would not be to immediately kill this padawan, but to use him. Gain information on Kenobi's life, his actions. Could it be possible that the old knight been trying to rebuild the Order. Could this boy be only one of many potentials hidden away in some secret enclave?

 

"Remove him to detention. Have him questioned on his Jedi affiliations."

 

He watched as a mixture of relief and terror played over the youth’s bloodied features, watched as they dragged the prisoner away, watched as they turned a corner and then he remembered the sabre he still held. He glanced at the hilt, memories racing through his mind, thoughts of camaraderie and companionship, of love and betrayal, of loss, of power and domination.  Of grief…

 

Unexpected and unwanted, but grief nonetheless, for all that had come and gone before; for Obi-Wan, for the love of his wife and unborn child, for the boy he had been, the Jedi he had supposed to be.

 

_"Anakin?"_

A thrill of surprise rippled through him and he growled in anger at the imagined whisper, at the feelings being dragged to the surface, causing the remaining troopers around him to back away a few paces. How dare Kenobi resurface, how dare he bring a padawan with him, how dare they snatch the princess from an Imperial stronghold. The fool had gained nothing, had only given him the opportunity to track down the Rebel's hidden base and obliterate it. In a few hours the Sith rule of the Galaxy would finally be unopposed.

 

"Clear the docking bay, have the repair crews assess any damage," he glanced at the frayed robes on the floor as he hooked Kenobi's sabre to his belt. "And burn those." Keeping his anger close he turned away to stride down the corridor.

 

_"Anakin…no…"_

 

He paused at the feeling, at the murmur of disappointed through the Force. He had believed that the voice was merely an aberrant thought of his own, an echo from the past. But it sounded like Kenobi. It felt like Kenobi. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out and gently probed the Force searching out the source of the feelings but all he found was the boy whose thoughts and feelings were confused and convoluted, wild with fear and pain.

 

There was nothing else…

 

_"There is the Force, Anakin. Listen to it…"_

 

No! He would not do this, he would not allow this. Obi-Wan's presence had obviously shaken him, the boy's strength in the Force had disturbed him. But he would not be swayed by ancient memories, old emotions that he had long buried. He closed his eyes and drew the purity of the dark side around him, relishing the heat of it, the cold reasoning of it. It was power, and he was its Master. All other thoughts dissipated, all other emotions faded and he moved through the Death Star untroubled.

 

ooOOoo


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to escape the Death Star docking bay with his companions an injured Luke Skywalker faces his fate alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work of fan fiction - I make no claim to the characters and situations of Star Wars. My only profit I have is fun.

Part Two

 

They were still bagging bodies and repairing the damage to the detention centre when the troopers escorting Luke brought him through the ruined doors of the turbo lift. There were several droids hovering around the central control desk working on exposed wires, welding panelling back together.

 

"Well, what do we have here?" A smooth voice questioned in interest.

 

Luke kept his eyes to the floor, his mind concentrating on staying on his feet. Not wanting to show any other sign of weakness than was already apparent from his wounds. His head throbbed and a wave of dizziness threatened to betray him.

 

"One of the Rebels, sir," one of the troopers answered. "Lord Vader has ordered that he be questioned."

 

Black boots appeared in his eye line, a drop of his blood fell from his hair and landed on the polished leather. Luke drew in a shallow breath, swallowed dryly, as his world slowly spun around him, as shadow edges blurred his vision.

 

"He's one of the ones who did this?" The words, spoken with tight anger, were not really a question.

 

A hand grasped his hair, drew his head up. A face swam into shaky focus, another hand tapped repetitively on his cheek, the force becoming light slaps that stung his flesh and brought him some unwelcome clarity.

 

"Look at me, scum," the voice ordered with warning tones. And Luke couldn't help but glance up at the man. The Imperial Officer smiled humourlessly at him, thin lips pulled tightly over feral teeth. "You're about to learn the consequences of actions."

 

His head was wrenched to the side by his hair, the man grabbed his arm and pulled him from the troopers' grasps and he was thrown to the floor to land heavily by the bodies of the men he and Han had killed. He cried out in pain as his blast injury protested sharply at the rough treatment and he brought his hand up to cover it, to protect it from further hurt. However, the sole of a boot planted on his back pushed him from behind and the hand he needed for protection was forced to the floor to stop him from keeling over onto the nearest body. His hair was grabbed again and he was forced to stare at the dead man.

 

"Do you see him, scum?"

 

Luke didn't answer, couldn't answer, was afraid to answer.

 

The hand tightened on his hair. "Do you see?" The voice snarled.

 

He grunted in pain, forced out, “Yes,” between gritted teeth.  He was hauled sharply up, brought face to face with the Imperial. "I'm sorry…"

 

The man laughed in his face. "You're about to be," and he let Luke go.

 

Luke crumpled to the floor where he lay gasping for breath.

 

The officer turned to the stormtroopers. "You may return to your posts, troopers. I'll alert Lord Vader as soon as we know something." He looked with disgust at the boy at his feet, then at his own personnel. "Take him to a cell, prepare him."

 

And he was moving again, tight fingers digging into his upper arms, and he was carried up the steps to the cell corridor, carried along it passed the Princess Leia's cell, passed the blasted out garbage chute, carried deeper into the bowels of the detention centre. Then they were stopping, opening a door, and he was thrown down to the floor of a cell, the door was closing and…

 

He looked up, squinted through the blood still trailing from his head wound, as the guards stepped down after him, as lights suddenly glared from above, as the men drew their side batons. Then he was throwing up his good arm in a feeble attempt at warding off the first of the blows.

 

ooOOoo

 

Pain slammed into his gut and he staggered from the force of it, having to reach out a hand to steady himself against the corridor wall.

 

“My… My Lord Vader are… are you alright?”

 

He turned at the nervous voice; saw a young communications officer anxiously watching him, the door to the control room lying open.

 

“Leave me!” he commanded, sharply, anger tearing the words and the soldier’s face paled as he swiftly scuttled away.  Vader's knees buckled again as an agony sliced through his lower arm, an arm that should not feel, an arm of metal and gears and wires, an arm lost on Geonosis decades ago.  With a grimace of effort he pulled himself straight and pushed away the phantom pains. He followed the feelings through the fabric of the Force, chasing them to the source.

 

The boy! So strong with the Force, but with no control. He was broadcasting his feelings, the chaotic torture of his punishment for his traitorous actions. With a growl of anger Vader closed off his mind to the unsettling sensations, silencing the emotions.

 

_“Hear him, Anakin!”_

 

No. He would hear no more. He would not be swayed by the inner voice that sounded like his old teacher. Recent events had obviously dragged up the past, brought forth forgotten memories and feelings. Kenobi was dead and the past, at last, could be laid to rest.

 

He drew himself to his full height, squared his shoulders and continued into the control room. He stepped next to Governor Tarkin's thin frame.

 

"Are they away," Tarkin asked, needlessly, as the wide view screen clearly showed the progress of the escaping Rebel ship.

 

"They have just made the jump into hyperspace," Vader informed him.

 

Tarkin spared him a sideways glance and stepped forward. The Dark Lord could feel the man's unease with the action they had taken. The Governor was more afraid of allowing a few Rebels to escape than he was of destroying an entire planet. It beggared belief, but then Tarkin was not Force sensitive, had not felt the agony of the millions killed with Alderaan.

 

"You're sure the homing beacon is secure aboard their ship," Tarkin continued, tightly. "I'm taking an awful risk, Vader. This had better work."

 

"It will work," Vader assured him. "The Princess is single minded like her father, she will run straight to her Alliance friends."

 

Tarkin nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "And what of Kenobi?"

 

"He is dead."

 

"And the Jedi boy in the cells?"

 

Vader smiled beneath his mask; very little escaped Tarkin's notice. The Governor had already known about Kenobi's death and the youth's capture before he asked, but he liked to question, to probe, to get a reaction. In that respect Tarkin reminded Vader of Palpatine.

 

"A temporary distraction," the Sith Lord told him. "He will be dead in a few hours."

 

"Then you should contact the Emperor and inform him of our victory."

 

Vader bridled at the "our" but stilled his anger. "There is no victory yet, Governor," and he was surprised at his words. He had thought that killing Kenobi and ending the Jedi Order would be a moment of triumph, but he felt strangely empty and unfulfilled. "Only once the Rebellion is crushed and the Galaxy is at peace can we claim to be victorious."

 

_“Go to him…”_

 

ooOOoo

 

Something was tugging at his arm; the shattered fragments of bone grating nauseatingly in his wrist as his tunic was dragged from his shoulders. He groaned as he was turned onto his back and his tunic fully removed. Strong hands grasped him by his upper arms, pain flaring from cracked ribs, his boots scraping on the floor as he was pulled up and along. Then he was lifted and harshly dumped on his back upon a smooth, cold surface. He tried to open his swollen eyes, saw bright light and blurred figures.

 

"Please…"

 

His hands were taken, stretched above his head and his broken wrists fastened tightly. He tried to look up, tried to pull on the restraints as panic coursed through him.  His boots were pulled from his feet and thrown to the floor and he lifted his head, fought against the pain of his injuries and kicked out as the guard tugged at the fastening of his pants.   His foot caught the man in the midriff, but he was weakened by the blast wound, by the beating he had taken and he had little power to defend himself. He bucked and struggled as they dragged his clothing from him and fastened his ankles to the bench with tight binders.

 

"No…" Luke squeezed his eyes shut against his humiliation, against the horror of his situation, his head falling loosely to rest against the unyielding metal.

 

The door opened and someone stepped down into the room. "Is he ready?" The voice was that of the officer.

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Luke felt the man near him, felt his breath against his ear, heard him whisper. "Time to talk, little Rebel." Then louder, "Tighten him up and bring the droid."

 

There was a brief ratchet sound and Luke's limbs were drawn taut across the table. He groaned in discomfort and cried aloud as the injured tissues of his blast wound tore a little more and broken bone separated.  He gasped, panted in air, chest heaving with fright as the shadow of a spherical droid fell over him.

 

Again the whisper. "I'm told you're Jedi. Lord Vader wants to know where you've been holding up, he wants to know how many of you there are. Simple questions really, don't you think? With simple answers?"

 

Luke squeezed his eyes shut in pain, his heart was hammering, blood rushing and pounding, causing a heavy throb in his head. He felt sick, wanted to throw up. He gagged, swallowed, unable to say anything to the Imperial by his side. Panic thrummed within, how could he answer when there was nothing to say? He wasn't a Jedi, he hadn't been hiding and there were no others.

 

"Let’s start with something easier though, will we?" The officer said gently, as though to placate him, as though he had seen the empty horror Luke felt. "Let’s start with who you are. What is your name, Little Rebel?"

 

“Lu…uke,” it was a gasp. There was no fight, no defiance. He had nothing to hide. “Sky…" he swallowed dryly. "…walker….”

 

The officer smiled at the compliance. “Good boy,” he commended. “Now, where did you come from?”

 

_“Call him, Luke! Call Vader…”_

 

Luke wrenched his head to the side toward the direction of Kenobi's voice. "Ben?" But all he saw was a blank wall and the appendages of a torture droid. "Ben…" he groaned in despair.

 

_“Vader, Luke. Call for Vader!”_

 

"Vader?" the question was a whisper of bewilderment.

 

"Not the answer I was looking for," the Imperial's voice was tight with anger. Perhaps the Rebel had some fight left in him after all, was playing him, or, perhaps, the boy was confused and disoriented by his pains. "I want his full attention," he waved to the droid and stepped slightly back allowing the machine to glide in. "And give him another turn."

 

Again the ratchet, and Luke's beaten body was racked tighter. He grunted, panted quickly, fighting the pain as his joints stretched. The hum of the droid's repulsors grew deafeningly closer, there was an unmistakable sting of a needle and a flare of heat in his arm and suddenly everything was enhanced; the lights, the noise and the torture. Then something new; a smell he knew. The smell of hot metal.

 

"No!" he pleaded, unable to move, unable to wrench himself free. "Ple…ease…"

 

A hand was placed upon his brow, it stroked his blood and sweat drenched hair and, again, the Imperial spoke. "This doesn't have to happen. Just tell me what I need? Tell me where the Jedi are."

 

And there was only desolation because Luke knew the only answers he could give would not be believed.

 

_“Call Vader…”_

And, as the droid touched him, he screamed.

 

"Vader!"


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost and alone Luke is questioned by his captors...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply...

Part Three

“We are receiving the telemetry from the homing beacon, sir,” announced the scan operator. "It looks like they're heading for the Sumitra Sector, possibly…."

 

"One of the moons of Yavin," Vader interrupted with certainty, feeling the truth flow from the Force.

 

"Chart a course and follow them at maximum velocity," Tarkin impatiently barked. "Place our progress on the view screen and give me hourly reports."

 

"I shall prepare the station for battle."

 

"Battle?" Tarkin asked, turning on the Dark Lord in surprise. "There will be no battle, Vader. This station will obliterate them while they scuttle in panic like vermin." He smiled with thin humour.

 

Vader swallowed the stirring of anger that grew; the man's arrogance was astounding, but Tarkin was favoured by Palpatine and he had to take care where Sidious’ pets were concerned – it would not be wise to upset the Emperor.  “We are hours behind them, Governor,” Vader reasoned, keeping the choler from his voice. “They will have time to analyse the plans and may find some defence against us.”

 

“May I remind you, Lord Vader,” Tarkin’s earlier unease returned, playing over his thin face and filling his eyes with concern. “That you were the one who decided to risk allowing them to escape.”

 

“It will work, Governor,” he assured the Moff. “However, it would be foolhardy not to prepa….”

 

_Vader!_

 

He was almost knocked off his feet by the power of the mental call, by the horror and pain that drove it. He staggered, groaned and clutched at his shoulder as he fought to rebuild his defences against the crashing tide of emotions and sensations.

 

He was powerful, the boy was powerful and, untrained, he was wildly reaching out to anyone he thought could hear him…

 

_“Listen to him!”_

 

…fumbling blindly in the dark for someone to help him.

 

_“Go to him!”_

 

“My Lord Vader?” Tarkin question mildly. “You seem somewhat,” he hesitated, searching for the right word, “distracted.”

 

It took effort, it took almost all of his power to push back the intense barrage and straighten up. The Force was like a whirlwind around him, buffeting him with gusts and squalls.  It had been a long time since the Force had been so convoluted, so unstable and volatile, not since…

 

_Master Skywalker! What are we going to do?_

 

He shook himself. The boy was a distraction, a minor irritation that needed put to rest – like the rest of the Jedi.

 

“Vader?”

 

He turned to find the governor watching him closely through narrowed eyes. He allowed another breath to be drawn in and expelled. “A minor fault with the prosthesis,” he lied smoothly, indicating his shoulder. “I shall have it repaired at once.”

 

“I think that would best,” Tarkin agreed with a tone that told Vader that the Moff didn’t truly believe him.  “We wouldn’t wish you to miss the fireworks once we reach Yavin.”

 

“Indeed,” the Dark Lord granted, trying to keep his voice level and calm as the boy’s agony raged. He turned from Tarkin and, fighting to keep the hurry from his steps, he walked from the control centre and headed for the detention level.

 

_See him, Anakin!_

Obi-Wan's Whisper within. It would seem that his inner self was not yet ready to accept the finality of Kenobi's death, that the boy in the cells had become a catalyst, a focus for his own reluctance to finally let go of the past. Once the Rebel had been disposed of the Force would once again be calm, be tranquil, be the dark shadows in which to forget.

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

A hand grasped his chin, the fingers digging into his flesh, but he could barely feel them over the anguish of his body, the wrenched and torn ligaments of his joints and the hot pincher that was embedded in his flesh. He could barely hear anything over the hum of the droid nearby, the harshness of his own breathing and the buzz of white noise that throbbed in his head.

 

Someone was screaming.

 

_“Soon, Luke…”_ the voice of Obi-Wan soothed.

 

He smiled at that. Soon. Soon would be good. Soon meant peace and darkness and no pain.

 

Soon.

 

"Stay with me, Rebel," another voice whispered a warning. "Look at me, boy."

 

He tried to lift his eyes, tried to open them in the glare of the light that hovered over him, but they were swollen and sticky and he could barely manage to lift the lids more than a crack.

 

“Pl…ease…” he managed to say to the face that swam above him unaware of the blood that wept from his split lips.

 

“The Jedi. Tell me about the Jedi. How many are there?” The voice was clipped with the frustration of repetition. “Are they backing the Rebellion? Are they behind it?”

 

He didn’t know. How could he know? He’d told them the truth. He had told them he was from Tatooine. He had given them his name. He didn’t know about Jedi, so why did they keep asking? Why did they keep hurting him? He didn’t know. What could he say so this would end?

 

_“Tell him, Luke. Tell him about your father.”_

 

"Fa…ther…"

 

There was harsh laughter. "The scum wants his father! It's usually the mother they call for." The fingers moved from his chin, a hand tapped his cheek. "Daddy can't help you here, boy, only I can. Only I can end this if you give me what I want."

 

_“The Jedi, Luke”._

 

"Ben?" he groaned, not understanding what the voice was telling him. He didn't know anything about the Jedi, didn't know what this man was wanting and he was so afraid of what was to come. "J…edi…. Plea…se?"

 

"Yes, the Jedi, boy. Tell me about the Jedi."

 

Luke took in a ragged breath, swallowed blood and coughed, tearing his already ragged throat and jerking his racked body. His shoulder was ablaze where the droid touched him, his veins ran cold with the drugs they had given him. "Jedi…."

 

"Let him talk," the Imperial commanded. "Elevate him."

 

Luke gasped, cried aloud as the droid withdrew its pincher from the tissue of his shoulder. The bench he was lying upon rose and tilted until he was almost upright. He slumped, grunted as gravity pulled on his already stretched and broken limbs. Something slid into his mouth and he gagged as fresh water flowed over his swollen tongue and trickled down his throat. 

 

_“Your father, Luke! Tell them your father was a Jedi”._

 

"Father…."

 

A shadow fell over him, blocking out the harsh lights. "I've given you relief, scum. Allowed you respite. Now answer my questions or we will resume with the droid. Do you understand?"

 

Luke loosely nodded, the movement causing nausea to roll through him. He gagged, retched, grimacing at the pain he caused himself.

 

The Imperial took a hasty step back wary of the prisoner vomiting. "Good boy," he praised, watching as Luke regained control of his stomach. "Now, you were going to tell me about the Jedi."

 

_“Your father! Tell them about Anakin!”_

 

Luke turned to the voice. "A… Anakin?" He questioned, confused by the strange name.

 

_“Your father!”_

 

A vicious blow knocked his head to the side, thumping it against the platform. He sagged further into his bonds.

 

_“Vader!”_

 

"Vader…." Luke whispered, numbly repeating Obi-Wan's words.

 

"Lord Vader wouldn't waste his time with you," the officer hissed and then ordered tightly. "Give him another turn! Droid, resume."

 

"No! No….no…"

 

As the bonds holding him dragged tighter, as the droid moved in, the door to the cell swept open

 


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth will out...

Part Four

 

The boy was screaming as Vader stepped down into the interrogation cell and he was relieved that he had reinforced his barriers against the feelings the padawan was sending out. The boy was stretched upon a bench similar to the one that had held him when Palpatine's droids had rebuilt him and he had to push away an odd sense of déjà vu, the feeling that this scene was uncomfortably familiar. He moved in closer as the prisoner gasped and pleaded against further hurt. If only the boy knew the power he could wield. If only he knew that he could easily end this himself, that the man tormenting him could be pushed aside with just a thought, that the droid pushing a hot pincher into his flesh could be crushed by simply closing his fist.

 

_“See him…”_

 

Obi-Wan was a fool not to have trained this child; he would have been a worthy opponent. As it was he was just another pathetic rebel.  "What do you have?" he asked as the door closed behind him.

 

"Very little, my lord," the man simpered as Vader stepped up to the prisoner and the droid moved back allowing the Dark Lord some room.  "His name, that he comes from Tatooine, but nothing else. I am beginning to believe that he knows nothing of the Jedi."

 

_“Anakin, see him!”_

 

“I am not interested in names, commander,” he reluctantly glanced at the prisoner in response to the desperation of the inner voice, but he did not acknowledge him, seeing only battered features and despair before turning his attention back to his subordinate.  “Do you believe he knows anything of note?”

 

Luke gasped with some relief as the droid moved away and the searing pain from his shoulder injury lessened. He heaved in a breath, panted with difficulty as his bruised and stretched torso protested at his efforts. He hung his head, kept his eyes closed against the presence of the Dark Lord, feeling his head throb in time with each breath the man took. He could barely hear the conversation that Vader was having with his tormentor over the rushing of blood in his ears. He wanted nothing more than to pass out, to faint into peaceful darkness.

 

_“Luke?”_

 

“No, my Lord,” the officer responded to Vader, he held out his hand for the data pad that the nearest guard held and glanced through the information gathered during the interrogation. There wasn't much. “He claims to be a farmer from Tatooine and that the Rebel droids were sold to his uncle by something called ‘Jawas.’ This has been corroborated by the troopers searching on Tatooine and…”

 

“What of Kenobi?” Vader drawled, taking no heed of the panting and gasps of pain from the boy, his incoherent whispers. “What of the Jedi.”

 

"B… Ben?" the boy muttered.

 

“Very little," the officer replied, ignoring the prisoner. "He says he knew Kenobi but didn’t know he was Jedi until…”

 

“Please… Ben…” Luke pleaded, looking for guidance in this impossible situation.

 

_“Tell Vader…”_

 

Luke felt nothing but hatred of that name, the name of the man who had him tortured, the man who had killed his father.

 

Vader sensed a tiny flutter within the Force, a brief flicker of light and a flash of a thought from the youth. An image in his mind, unformed and unfocused, but it was clearly himself wielding his sabre in battle against a Jedi, but not Kenobi. This man was taller, his features obscured as though forgotten, or simply unknown.

 

“…so we simply proceeded as you or…”

 

 Vader waved his subordinate quiet. Something was wrong here; something didn’t fit. The Force flowed around him becoming deeper and darker by the moment and the shadows swamped the image the boy had projected and hid the truth of what was happening just out of his reach. This child was an enigma, a puzzle.

 

Why would Kenobi not teach a boy with such possibility? It defied understanding.

 

_“Search your feelings.”_

 

That had always been Kenobi's advice, and of late Sidious had picked up the mantra. If there was something needing to be understood then his feelings would reveal it. However, there had been times when his feelings clearly had revealed the truth to him and he had been ignored by his masters, or manipulated by them.

 

_"Dreams pass in time."_

 

Obi-Wan had been wrong. Dreams don't always pass, sometimes they came to be and then lingered to torment him.

 

"Va…der.." Luke muttered, squinting trying to see through blood and tears.

 

_“Yes, Luke… Tell Vader about your father!”_

 

The boy's mumble, and a spark of angry hatred within the Force, interrupted his thoughts and he spared the battered figure a curious glance.  The child was trying to lift his head, trying to see through blackened, swollen eyes and Vader suddenly felt uncomfortable at the courage he saw within the movement, ill at ease with the sight of the bound and tortured youth struggling to raise his head to face his accusers.  Suddenly this felt wrong and his stomach twisted with vague anxiety.

 

"My… my…Fa..th..er?" Luke was tired, his consciousness becoming unfocused. He didn’t understand what Ben wanted. He just wanted this to stop.

 

Vader took an involuntary step back as the youth’s eyes focused briefly on him.

 

The officer laughed beside him, explaining. "He's been calling for his father for a while, My Lord."

 

Vader slowly nodded, not surprised that the boy had been reduced to calling for his parents. It was common for prisoners to become like children and, lost within terror and despair, they would call for parental comfort.

 

He gathered himself, annoyed that he had allowed the boy’s presence to provoke him, to remind him of his past. It was time to grant that comfort, time to silence Obi-Wan once and for all and to purge the Jedi from the galaxy, from himself.

 

"Dispose of him." He turned to leave, inexplicably unable to witness the padawan's demise; after all he had killed younger himself. Why should this one's death have such an unsettling effect? Why did the Dark Side purl in anticipation and why did desperation push at the edges of his feelings?

 

_“No! Anakin!”_

 

Unthinking, Luke repeated. "An… akin."

 

 _“Yes, Luke”,_ the voice of Obi-wan implored. “ _Tell Vader. Your father…”_

 

"My…fa..ther," he whispered in turn, wanting Vader to know. Wanting the man who murdered his father to know he was his father's son. He craned his head to look at Vader as the officer took his pistol from its holster. The Dark Lord's back was to him.

 

_“…was Anakin!”_

 

"An… Anakin," he whispered, but the effort was too much and his head fell forward and he slumped limply in the restraints, closed his eyes as the officer pointed the gun at his head and he waited for the shot.

 

Vader stopped at the sound of that name uttered by a youth he did not know. Stopped at the sound of that name uttered with the word ‘father.’

 

_“Hear him, Anakin!”_

 

“Wait,” he ordered softly, turning around and placing his hand on the raised gun.  He turned his opticals on the youth, noticing how slight and small and young the rebel was. “You said he gave his name.”

 

Luke drew in another breath as Vader spoke, grimacing as his shattered ribs protested against the movement. He could feel blood bubbling in his throat and he swallowed it down and choked and coughed, fighting a wave of nausea. Through his fatigue he heard the request for his name and he wondered what the monster’s reaction would be, if he would recognise the name of the Jedi he had betrayed and murdered years ago. If he would know that Luke was the son of Skywalker.

 

“Yes, sir,” the Lieutenant told Vader. “Skywalker, Luke Skywalker.”

 

Everything became still and the gale that had been the Force ebbed and calmed in that tiny instant as though they were caught within the eye of a storm.

 

_“Anakin something wonderful has happened”._

 

 With a sudden and awful realisation the feelings crashed in, and Vader was looking at Padme’s scared and nervous face as she watched for his reaction, he was waking from a nightmare in which his wife screamed her agony and a baby’s cry echoed from the shadows, he was lost in anger as he lifted his hand against the woman he loved, he was bent over in anguish, in dreadful grief as her loss and the loss of his child sank in.

 

_No…_

 

It was impossible. She had died, and the child died, too. He had watched her funeral, had forced himself to view the recording of the occasion in a fit of self-flagellation and he had seen her swollen belly. He had grieved, had used his anger and self-hatred to enhance the power he now wielded.  The child was lying dead within its mother womb.

 

_My Child..._

And here was this youth arriving in the company of Obi-Wan Kenobi, this youth who said his name was Skywalker. From Tatooine…

 

Luke didn’t know what was happening, but something was wrong, something was terribly wrong and he was at their mercy still. He involuntary cried aloud, squeezing his eyes shut against it all.

 

Vader stepped closer, lifted his hand, wanting to reach out and tilt the prisoner’s chin higher so that he could study his features, but he held back as the boy cried out and flinched against the movement and he closed his fists tight in an effort to control himself. He forced himself to speak. “You mentioned an uncle…” And he wasn’t sure if he addressed the detention centre officer, or the youth himself.

 

“Yes, sir.” The man responded nervously, unsure of the sudden change in Vader’s mood. He holstered his pistol, lifted the data pad. “Lars, Owen Lars.”

 

_"I guess I'm your step-brother..."_

This was impossible! This couldn’t be! He stared at the boy hanging on the bench, the boy who only moments before seemed resigned to die, who, twice now, he had ordered destroyed only to belay the command. The youth softly groaned his pain and confusion, bright blood spilled from open wounds, sweat mixed with the blood and matted his hair, his body was mottled with deep bruising and was stretched beyond endurance.

 

It couldn’t be! This child couldn’t be…

 

_My son…_

 

And yet, the Force surrounded them both, thick and potent with power. It seemed to hover around them as though waiting, as though it had preordained this moment and awaited its outcome, waited for him to come to a decision as it had almost two decades before.

 

_“What have I done?”_

 

He reached out to the Force, reached out to the battered child before him and gently probed. There was no fight, no barrier to him. The boy was scared, terrified and in so much pain. So much agony that it was almost unbearable, almost like…

 

_Hot winds fanning the flames as they surged over his body, searing black sand and ash hampering him as he tried to crawl from the river of flowing lava…  and Obi-Wan turning away, walking away, leaving him to burn…_

 

…and more; a presence - an innocence and gentleness, courage and tenacity, conviction and enthusiasm and…

 

_It was her… the boy felt like her…_

 

It was true. He knew it to be true. He didn’t need DNA analysis, he didn’t need a midi-chlorian count. Obi-Wan was right and the Force had revealed the truth. This youngling was…

 

_“My son. My grown up son.”_

 

Son. 

 

_"What have I done?"_

His son. Her son. Their child was hanging bound and tortured on his orders. Interrogated when he could know no answers. Vader moaned and clenched his fists tighter, lowered his head and closed his eyes against the sight of his injured son, at the result of his orders.

 

_I didn’t know… how could I know! My son… hidden from me._

 

And his fury and hatred grew. The Jedi had tricked him again. They had turned his wife against him, had secreted her away, allowed her to die in childbirth as he had foreseen and then had spirited his child away.  And this was the consequence of their actions; son pitted against father and left to suffer at his father’s hands.

 

_“Anakin, please… you are wiser than this!”_

 

“M…my Lord?” the officer tentatively asked, unsure of the sudden change in Vader’s demeanour.

 

Vader turned with a snarl and the officer was sent flying to smash into the opposite wall, he fell limply to the floor and lay still. The two guards swiftly backed up trying to put some distance between the enraged Dark Lord and themselves as the torture droid was crushed in mid air and left to drop in a heap of broken circuits and bloodied plating. 

 

Luke was aware only of noise and feelings, of darkness closing in, pressing in on his weakened body, holding onto him as solidly as the metal restraints did.  He knew it was his name that had caused it, knew that Vader had remembered something, knew something of his father and had recognised him. He felt, rather than saw, the Dark Lord turn back to him, felt that he had once again become the focus of the man’s attention.

 

It terrified him.

 

_“Be calm, Luke”._

 

Ben. Why didn’t Ben help him? Why did he merely whisper in his ear and leave him open to their ministrations?

 

“Please…” he pleaded roughly, not knowing if it was Ben or the Dark Lord he was speaking to, not caring. “Please…” Then he cried out as the table he was on moved back into its horizontal position.

 

“No! Ple…ase, please…” Tears of panic mixed with blood and slid down the side of his face. “Please…” There was nothing else left to say, he could only beg not to be hurt again as Vader reached for him. “Ple…ase.”

 

Vader ignored the pleas and loosened the taut chains of the rack, opened the binders holding his son’s wrists and ankles. He turned to the two guards. “Leave me! Have a medic report here immediately,” he glanced down at the boy as Luke stirred, as he tried futilely to move away from the giant who hovered over him. “Remain still,” he ordered and looked back up to where the guards had hesitated. “Now!” he barked at them and they scurried out, leaving him alone with his son.

 


	5. Part Five

Part Five

 

Confusion shook Luke as the Dark Lord loosened the bonds around his wrists and his body immediately slackened. The excruciating agony of the forced stretch dulled, leaving a grating ache within his limbs and joints, but the pain of the blaster injury that the droid had plundered with its white-hot pincher seemed to intensify as Vader brought his arms down to his sides. He pulled against the man, tried to move from his hold and from his presence but the grasp was firm and the presence too strong.

 

“Please,” he pleaded again through cracked and bloodied lips. “Please…” What more could they want? What more could they do to him? He could feel the bonds opening on his ankles, could feel the release and relief of his tortured body and wondered what it all meant. Wondered if this was the end and if another blaster would be put to his head, but this time the trigger pulled.

 

“Lie still,” Vader instructed again as the youth weakly struggled to pull away.  “No further harm will come to you.”

 

He leaned over his son inspecting the wounds that marred the boy’s sweat drenched frame; fractures and bruising from a beating, the blaster wound deepened by the droid, needle marks from the drugs administered to keep him conscious. There could be internal injuries, broken ribs, haemorrhaging, joint damage from the rack.

 

Not comprehending Vader’s words, Luke started in panic as the man’s bulk blocked out the harsh light of the room, again he tried to pull away, tried to force his body to move. He tried to push himself up but the sudden movement caused a wave of dizziness and nausea, he gagged and retched, but he was weak and exhausted and his body lacked the energy it need to vomit properly. Coughing, choking he fell back, struggling against this further horror.

 

Vader moved quickly, turning Luke onto his side and clearing his mouth, checking his airways. There was no resistance this time from the battered body and he held the youth gently while he was sick. He was unused to caring, unused to soothing hurt. He felt awkward and unsure. It was an unsettling feeling, but still he instinctively placed his hand on the boy’s forehead as his mother had done with him whenever he was ill.

 

_“Now I am complete.”_

 

He closed his eyes against the unwelcome memory of his mother’s death. It had been so long since he had thought of her, so long since he had been haunted by his failure to save her, since he had vowed at her graveside that he would not fail again. But he had failed, he had failed to save his wife and he had failed to save his son from the same fate as his grandmother.

 

When reunited with her son, Shmi had declared she was complete. Reunited with his son Vader felt lost and uncertain, his feelings were wild and convoluted, twisting and butting against each other with conflicting desires. The Dark Side yawned before him whispering promises of power and domination if his son should join him, but there was more; a whisper of something other, a whisper that perhaps all was not lost to the void after all.

 

_“Let your belief lie there, Anakin.”_

 

Luke felt his body righted, felt the leather glove on his forehead, the strong arms around him as he vomited, the spasms racking a body so tortured that these pains seemed almost inconsequential to all his others. His senses reeled, his mind unable to grasp what was happening and why. A quiet darkness seemed to beckon him, seemed to linger just beyond and, within that darkness there would come peace. He reached for it, its tendrils lightly touching, pulling gently and enveloping as it soothed him and drew him deeper into its embrace.

 

The boy’s retching ceased and he fell limp, still cradled in the Dark Lord’s arms. Carefully, Vader laid Luke down, keeping him on his side and being watchful in case he started vomiting again. Luke was at last unconscious, his body having finally managed to conquer the drugs that had been forced upon it to maintain lucidity and awareness as it was razed with torture, beaten and plundered for answers Luke couldn’t possibly know.

 

He brushed strands of sweat and blood laden hair from Luke’s eyes, ran his index finger along the battered contours of the young face. He lifted a swollen hand and turned it in his own palm looking at the boy’s fingers. They were the actions of a father seeing his newborn infant for the first time and taking in the image of a perfect child, of an innocent untainted.

 

_“He is hope.”_

 

Still the whisper of Obi-Wan. It seems killing the old man was not enough to shut him up. Vader placed Luke’s hand down upon the bench and stepped back as the door to the cell swept open and at last the medic appeared with the medical capsule. However, the medic ignored the boy on the rack and moved immediately for the officer crumpled on the floor.

 

“Leave him,” Vader growled. “You were not called for him.”

 

The medic hesitated for only a moment and then moved swiftly to Luke. He grimaced with distaste and addressed the Dark Lord. “It will take several hours for me to strengthen him enough for further questioning, My Lord.”

 

“There will be no more questions,” Vader rumbled putting all of his displeasure into his voice. “This boy is to be stabilised and transported to my shuttle.”

 

The medic merely nodded mutely and gestured for the capsule to be brought in and Vader stood aside allowing the man space in which to work.

 

ooOOoo

 

Tarkin watched the view screen closely as the Death Star approached Yavin and the tannoy announced what he already knew.

 

_“We are approaching the planet Yavin. The Rebel base is on the moon on the far side. We are preparing to orbit the planet.”_

 

He tempered him impatience to see the end of the annoying Alliance. It had quietly undermined the supremacy of the Empire for too long and it was time to put it to rest. He smiled thinly as he contemplated the moment when he informed the Emperor of their success, maybe then Palpatine would favour him before the Jedi turncoat.

 

Tarkin had never trusted Vader; had never liked the man even when the name of Anakin Skywalker had been hailed throughout the Galaxy as a hero. He had not seen the hero, he had merely seen an arrogant youth, and Vader was now an arrogant man barely restrained by the Emperor’s leash.

 

It troubled Tarkin that Obi-Wan Kenobi had re-surfaced on board the Death Star. Vader may have despatched his old master but the old Jedi’s presence appeared to have left an impression on the Dark Lord and instead of standing by Tarkin’s side to watch the demise of the Rebellion he was…

 

Where? Seeing to some malfunction? Or was he elsewhere?

 

He glanced at the operations station and at the men who worked there. “Where is Lord Vader,” he barked at them.

 

Fingers worked quickly over keys and controls before he was answered. “He asked for his shuttle to be prepared and for the Devastator to be recalled.”

 

Tarkin’s thin face darkened with displeasure. “For what purpose?” he asked, although he knew; the pull of the Jedi boy, the siren call of the Force that Vader would be unable to resist.

 

“He is transferring a prisoner, sir.”

 

Thin lips turned down in fury and an angry burst of colour flared on Tarkin’s high cheeks. The Dark Lord was leaving, abandoning them just as triumph loomed. The Emperor would know of this and…

 

The Emperor…

 

The blush on anger faded as quickly as it had come and he smiled to himself. Let the Dark Lord run with the boy. Once the Rebellion was crushed he, Tarkin, would be able to take all of the credit, all of the accolades and Vader would be left on the sidelines, perhaps even disposed off for his treachery at such a pivotal moment.

 

The Emperor would know, he would be given the full story… but only after Yavin IV was destroyed.

 

ooOOoo

 

Time seemed to drag, seemed to tease his impatience as he watched the medical team stabilise the Rebel’s condition.

 

 _My son,_ Vader corrected himself as an oxygen mask was placed over the boy’s nose and mouth. Luke mumbled in his unconsciousness grimaced and twisted his head as though trying to shake loose the cover. At last, after field dressing wounds and setting up fluid transfer units, the medic’s lifted Luke into the capsule and hooked him up to the monitors that would gauge his tortured body’s status.

 

The lead medic turned to Vader. “He’s ready for transport, My Lord.”

 

“Give him some dignity,” Vader rumbled indicating the naked form.

 

The man seemed confused, perhaps by the request that a Rebel be given some consideration, or perhaps, that Vader had shown the concern in the first place. But an order is obeyed. “Of course, My Lord,” and Luke was quickly covered by a thin, thermal blanket.

 

Vader followed them from the cell, followed his son’s capsule, much as Palpatine had followed his on their journey from Mustafar to Coruscant. He couldn’t remember much of that period, couldn’t focus past the pain and consternation he felt. His body had been ruined, crippled and his heart and emotions were wild with betrayal and failure. She had brought Obi-Wan, she had turned against him when victory had seemed so close, when all his hopes and dreams were about to be fulfilled.

 

Obi-Wan had not understood, had stood against him, had stayed true to the Jedi’s narrow views of the universe. He had turned her against him. All this and more had tortured him as he was rebuilt. The physical pain he could withstand, this form, this façade…

 

… _was not Anakin_ …

 

…that the Emperor had forced upon him, although unwelcome and unwanted, was also tolerable. But the emotional pain, the loss of everything, had been so much worse, and had remained all these years to become cultured into a barely controlled rage.

 

And he had become the dutiful Sith, Sidious’s apprentice, exacting his master’s word throughout the galaxy.

 

_Master…_

 

A title he had only been called in error by those who knew no better. Always the apprentice, never the master, always the…

 

_…slave…_

 

He had declared himself a Master to Obi-Wan and, in his own way, Kenobi had accepted that before he died.

 

_“Only a master of evil, Darth.”_

 

The echo of words caused him to pause and reassess his thoughts. Darth. Not “Anakin.” It was the first, and the last, time Kenobi had accepted his title and it was only now, as he followed his beaten son that he understood what Obi-Wan had meant and why he had used his Sith title.

 

Vader knew only darkness, had only become adept using Sith techniques and methods and, in those ways, he _was_ more masterful than a Jedi. Kenobi had mocked him, had tried to show him that in reality he was still very much a learner.

 

He growled, low in his throat, with anger and frustration causing the medics in front to hurry their footsteps and they moved a little quicker through the battle station.  Even now Kenobi could test his patience and endurance, even now he could toss lessons at him and make him feel as though he was would never gain the status he yearned for and leave him feeling unworthy.

 

_“You are strong and wise, Anakin, and I am very proud of you…”_

 

Except then. They had come through so much together, had fought, and won, many battles first as master and pupil and then as brother Jedi. But Obi-Wan had stayed true to the Jedi Order when they had tried to over throw Palpatine and the Republic and…

 

_It was you who ran to the Jedi and disclosed what you had discovered about the chancellor, it was Palpatine who dissolved the Republic and declared an Empire._

 

…it was Obi-Wan who came between him and Padme.

 

_“Oh, Anakin, what are you going to do?”_

 

And he almost stopped, almost came to a dead halt in the corridor as clarity suddenly bloomed. What was he going to do? What was he thinking? He was taking an enemy of the Empire to his personal shuttle, he was disobeying direct orders from the Emperor himself, abandoning his post in a time of war and at a crucial moment.

 

_“I’ll not betray the republic…my loyalties lie with the Chancellor and with the Senate… and with you.”_

 

But there was no Republic, there was no chancellor, no Senate. However, there was his son, her son, and his loyalty was always hers…

 

_“You’re going down a path I cannot follow.”_

 

…even if her loyalty had not always been with him.

 

He must continue on, he must follow his feelings as the Force dictated and his son must be saved, must be taken from this place. He would think of something later to cover his actions, to tell Sidious, to placate his master. Luke must live, must be hidden – for now.

 

_“Our baby is a blessing…”_

 

The blast doors of the hanger swept open and Vader could see his shuttle sitting waiting with engines running. “You will come with us, medic,” he told the nervous man. Luke must have medical attention during the short jump to the Devastator’s position.

 

“Yes, My Lord,” the man agreed, uneasily.

 

They walked quickly up the ramp and were met by the co-pilot. “Sir,” he breathlessly addressed Vader, “we have reports of small Rebel Snub Fighters heading for the Death Star.

 

“Transmit the Medical Emergency code and take us in the opposite direction from their approach. The Rebel’s sensitivities will not allow them to attack a medical vessel.”

 

“At once, milord,” the pilot briefly saluted and turned to the cockpit.

 

Vader settled into the passenger chair and watched as the medic fussed around the capsule and as Luke mumbled quietly in his unconsciousness. The engine vibration quietly thrummed through the shuttle as the ship lifted off and slid from the hanger into cold space. He closed his eyes and gathered the Force around him seeking counsel and guidance.

 

 _“You have done well, Anakin.”_ Obi-wan gently praised and, for the first time, Vader smiled beneath his mask at the old Jedi’s words.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader Contemplates his new found son's fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Previous disclaimers apply...

_“The Rebel base will be in range in seven minutes.”_

 

Tarkin pushed down his impatience, his eagerness to see this done. To be the man who ended the Rebellion and consolidated the Empire’s undisputed rule of the Galaxy; he would be rewarded handsomely by the Emperor, perhaps be gifted more systems to govern. He smiled thinly, no-one would dare oppose the Empire now.

 

“Governor Tarkin?”

 

He sighed, rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned from the view screen where the countdown to the Rebel base was displayed. “Yes, what is it?”

 

The officer shifted his feet on the floor. “We’ve counted approximately thirty Rebel ships, small snub fighters that can evade the turbo lasers. We have scrambled the TIE crews and on your orders….”

 

“My orders?” The Governor questioned. “Orders for what? To waste fuel and possibly the lives of talented pilots to defend a station that requires no defence?”

 

“Sir, I… we are taking damage. We’ve lost some gun emplacements on the surface and….”

 

“They are of no consequence and can be easily repaired. Stand the fighters down,” Tarkin waved the man away and returned his gaze to the display screen once more and his thoughts to the accolades that awaited him.

 

_“…Rebel base will be in range in three minutes…”_

 

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Beneath his mask Vader’s eyes snapped open and he quickly rose and made his way to the cockpit. The pilot stiffened in response to having the Dark Lord suddenly at his back but he did not turn around.

 

“Increase speed to full throttle,” Vader told him shortly. “Get us away from the Death Star.”

 

“Yes, Milord,” the man responded unquestioningly.

 

As the shuttles engines throbbed quicker and the shuttle picked up speed the Dark Lord stared at the rear scanners, he could see the blips that marked the Rebel fighters suddenly lift away from the circle of the Death Star and move quickly back toward the fourth moon. 

 

He turned and spoke into the com, his voice carrying into the compartment where the medic sat with his son. “Secure your patient,” he ordered as the image of the Death Star on the scope suddenly burst and flared into electronic static.

 

There was a shock wave through the Force, the deaths of so many swelling outward to batter and pummel at his defences. It was less intense than the loss of Alderaan but still it hammered at his senses, the sudden cessation of life was always shocking no matter what scale it was on.  Then the energy surge from the explosion slammed into the shuttle, picked it up and carried it forward, buffeting it on a wave of misspent power.

 

Vader gripped the back of the pilot’s chair keeping himself upright as the shuttle shuddered and shook and he had to fight his impulse to drag the pilot from his place and take the controls himself. Sparks flew from the panel above Vader’s head, alarms began to sound in the enclosed space and there was a crash from the back compartment and a yell of pain. Vader immediately thought of Luke but a quick search through the Force assured him that his newfound son was still unconscious and oblivious to what was happening around him.

 

Gradually the shaking lessened, the juddering of the craft died away until the shuttle flew straight once more as the pilot brought her back under control. The alarms silenced and there was quiet.

 

_“Another happy landing…”_

 

And Vader couldn’t help but smile at the memory. They had walked away, alive, from so many situations that they had no business surviving, had built up a reputation of being invincible, of being inseparable.

 

If only that had been true, if only Obi-Wan had stayed true to the cause, to the Chancellor and to the Republic…

 

_“Anakin, my allegiance is to the Republic, to democracy!”_

 

So many lies.

 

_“But from whom, Anakin?”_

 

Vader ignored Kenobi’s whisper and placed his hand on the shoulder of the pilot. “You have done well, Lieutenant. Send a transmission to the Devastator that we will be with them shortly and to have a medical team on standby, then make the jump to lightspeed.”

 

The young man had started at Vader’s touch, taken aback by the praise and felt brave enough to question. “What of the Death Star, there could be survivors?”

 

“There are no survivors,” Vader bluntly told him as he turned and left the cockpit. He entered the passenger compartment to find the medic gingerly picking himself up from the floor – the cry of pain had been the medic losing his footing during the surge - and the medical capsule now at the back of the seating area. He ignored the medic and headed for his son.

 

The medic had followed orders and the boy was now restrained on the stretcher to prevent him from tumbling out. He remained unconscious, bruised and swollen eyes closed, the dressing on his head wound was stained with blood betraying a still leaking wound. The cover was slightly askew revealing Luke’s badly battered torso and his breathing, through an oxygen mask, seemed laboured.

 

The medic, favouring his right leg, limped to Vader’s side to check on his patient.  “He remains stable, my Lord,” he assured the Dark Lord as a slight tug on the shuttle signified the jump to hyperspace. “The…” he fought for a word, not understanding why the shuttle had bucked and shook a few minutes earlier. “The.. turbulence did not have any effect on the capsule or the boy.”

 

“Thank you,” Vader glanced at the man beside him, noted his rank for the first time, “Captain. You may tend to your own injury.”

 

“As you wish, My Lord. I…” he hesitated, wanting know what had happened, but afraid of annoying his superior. 

 

But Vader did not hear him, he was only looking at Luke, trying to see his son without the injuries, trying to comprehend how his life had suddenly twisted and curved, how his child had survived his mother’s death.

 

_“It seems, in your anger, you killed her.”_

 

He had killed her. He had lived for almost two decades with the knowledge that he had killed her and their unborn child.

 

_“Let her go, Anakin!”_

 

But he had held on. His fury tightening his Force grip on her throat as she gasped his name, her eyes wide with horror.

 

_“Let her go!”_

 

And he had, too late. She had dropped to the ground her life signature in the Force weak, thread-like, and instead of helping her, instead of allowing Obi-Wan to help her, he had turned on the Jedi.

 

_“You will not take her from me!”_

 

They had fought around her, their battle growing ever more furious as it moved away from the landing platform, as it moved away from her. They had left her lying alone in the heat and the ash to die. He had always thought that he, and he alone, had taken her life and their child’s life. His anger and self-loathing driving him on the single purpose that had given his life any meaning after Mustafar; bringing peace to the Galaxy under the Empire and the Emperor.

 

Now it seemed she had lived.

 

 Instinctively, he reached out and touched his son’s hand. She had lived and given birth to this boy. Had she died in childbirth as his dream had foretold? Had his fruitless efforts to stop her death caused it? Had it been Obi-Wan who had taken his child to Tatooine, to the Lars’? 

 

So many questions and very little hope of getting an answer to any of them – unless Luke himself knew of his background and knew who he was and, if that was so, then the boy knew that it had been his own father who had him tortured.

 

That thought was almost unbearable.

 

“My…Lord?”

 

Vader snatched his hand away from Luke’s, he had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not realised that the medic was still at his back and had possibly seen him taking the boy’s hand. It was a serious lapse in his concentration and it must not happen again.

 

“What is it, Captain?” he growled, trying to hide his surprise with anger, trying to instil fear in his subordinate.

 

It worked, for the Captain stepped back a pace, his face pale. “I… I…uh…” and he sealed his fate by glancing at Luke’s still hand. “I was wondering what had happened?”

 

“The Death Star has been destroyed,” Vader told him, watching the man glance again at Luke. He could feel the medic’s curiosity fight with his fear. It was fortunate for him that his talents were still required and thus had a few hours grace before they reached the Devastator. “The boy’s identity is no concern of yours, Medic. You would do well not to speak of him, just tend to his wounds and to your own.”

 

The man visibly blanched. “I… Of course, My Lord.”

 

The Dark Lord turned from him and made his way back to the cockpit, smiling as the pilot once more stiffened at his approach. “I will take the controls until we reach the Devastator.”

 

The young man rose, bowed. “As you wish, My Lord.”

 

Vader settled into the pilot’s chair, ran his eyes over the scanners and readouts noting that all systems were running at optimum performance. Although, he was quite sure that if he were to re-route the power lines and tweak the engines, he could probably cut a few more minutes off their journey.

 

_“Some things never change, Anakin.”_

 

The whisper was tinged with gentle humour and a terrible sense of loss. Some things don’t change but others do, and the consequences these changes bring are devastating. 

 

_“I’m… Annie, I’m pregnant.”_

_“Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.”_

_“You must choose!”_

_“Don’t listen to him, Anakin!”_

_“I pledge myself to your teachings.”_

_“Master Skywalker, there are too many of them. What are we going to do?”_

 

The memories flickered and danced within much like the lights of hyperspace did beyond the cockpit. Compelling and overwhelming in their brilliance and strength.

_“Anakin, what are you going to do?”_

 

And there was that question again. What _was_ he going to do? He had followed his feelings…

 

_…followed your heart…_

 

… this far. Now he needed to think more rationally, not just rely on his emotions to guide him, not just depend upon the Force to show him the path he should take. But as his teachers so often pointed out rational thinking and control were never his natural gifts. His talents lay with instinct and feelings and…

 

_…fear…_

 

…he knew he would need more than those now to plan his next move. His son’s future depended upon him making the right decisions.

 

_My son!_

 

A thrill twisted in his guts at the word, at the realisation of what it meant.  His son, his child – something of Padme had survived and the boy needed him, needed his protection just as she had done. This time he would not fail her.

 

But what to do? Where to take the boy to ensure his safety.

 

_Safety from whom?_

_From the law of an Empire that executes all Rebels?_

_From the law of the Sith that dictates a rule of two?_

_From any remnants of the Jedi who survived as Obi-Wan had?_

 

He allowed his breathing mechanism to draw in his breath for him and he closed his eyes trying to calm his thoughts. Luke had to be kept safe from all, but where and with whom?  He had few options before him, few places where Luke could be safely spirited away and hidden until the time came for him to take his place with his father.

 

He could return Luke to Tatooine, but with Owen and Beru dead he would be alone on that sithforsaken sand ball and that was a fate Vader would wish on no-one. He could play down Luke’s crimes, have him locked away on Kessel far from the Emperor’s prying but the boy may not survive even with large bribes to the Prison’s commandant. He could stroll into the Palace with the boy at his side and proclaim he had a son and hope for the best.

 

He snorted quietly at this last notion, laughing dryly at the absurd direction his thoughts had taken, but deep within a quiet panic was beginning to slowly beat. It was a huge Galaxy, with many hiding places. However, there were not that many that he could travel too incognito. He was too recognisable; his footsteps too easily followed. This needed something more, this needed someone else, someone not so easily tracked. Someone with whom he could entrust his son.

 

Someone from outside of the Empire with no allegiances to anyone bar himself and the job at hand.

 

By the time the quiet chime sounded from the console alerting him to the shuttle’s arrival at the rendezvous point with the Devastator, only one man had come to mind. 


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader makes his plans to hide his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers apply

Part Seven

Captain Mulchive Wermis shifted uneasily before the phalanx of Stormtroopers as the ramp of the shuttle slowly lowered to the docking bay floor. He drew himself up, clasped his hands behind his back as Darth Vader strode from the ramp followed by a medic pushing a medical capsule. He glanced at the patient, winced at the bruised and swollen face, the stark injuries against pale skin. Stepping forward he shifted his eyes, greeting the Dark Lord, “My Lord Vader,” and gave a brief bow of his head.

 

Vader could feel the man’s nervousness, his curiosity about why his ship had been recalled, about the boy in the capsule. He walked on, followed by the medic with his son, making Wermis turn sharply. The captain had difficulty keeping up.

 

“My Lord,” he tried again. “We have intercepted several messages from Imperial Centre trying to raise the Death Star, but they do not appear to be answering. It may be prudent to continue on to their last position and...”

 

“The Death Star is of no concern, Captain,” Vader rumbled. “It has been destroyed.” He savoured the shock that stopped Wermis mid stride, had to stifle the enjoyment he felt as the Captain had to practically run to catch up with him again.

 

“Destroyed... My Lord,” he stumbled over his words. “Should we not sweep the area? There may be survivors, or...”

 

“There are no survivors, Captain,” Vader suddenly stopped and turned. “Are my apartments prepared for me?”

 

“Of course, My Lord, I...”

 

“Have a private and secured channel opened,” he looked directly at Wermis, pointed his finger at the man in warning. “I will know if anyone else has access.” He looked at his son, reluctant to give the next order, but it was required if his plans for Luke were to succeed.

 

“Have this prisoner taken to the medical bay in the brig. Treat his injuries and bring him around. I want him lucid and able to withstand further questioning. Inform me when he is ready.”

 

“It shall be done, My Lord.” Wermis gestured to the following troopers. “You heard Lord Vader.”

 

Four of the soldiers came forward, two stepping behind the capsule, two in front, as thought the beaten boy that lay on it still posed some risk. Vader addressed the medic. “Your work is done. Wait here with the shuttle.”

 

The Medical Captain frowned, confused and concerned. “My Lord, the...the prisoner is stable just now, but during the transfer he may need...”

 

Vader reached out with the Force and gently probed his son’s still form. The child’s presence was muted, quiet, but still resonated strongly within the Force despite his unconscious state. There was nothing to indicate that his condition would change in the few minutes the journey to the brig would take. The medic was only worried about his own well being, and rightly so. “You will remain with the shuttle.” The warning was clear in his voice.

 

“As... as you wish, My Lord,” the man acquiesced with a bow, apprehension emanating from his entire being as the troopers removed the prisoner.

 

_Anakin don’t do this..._

 

Vader angrily clamped down on Obi-Wan’s whisper as he waved for the troopers to leave with Luke. He had thought his conscience quiet, had thought that the murmur of his old master now silent. He would do what was required to keep his son safe and Obi-Wan would just have to accept it or stay mute.

 

Nearby Wermis cleared his throat and hesitantly asked. “My Lord... What of the Death Star? I... we... should inform the Emperor and...”

 

“That is my prerogative, Captain.” It was also a task he wanted to delay as much as possible. He needed to ensure his son’s safety first, but he also needed a plausible story to explain why he was not among the dead of the Death Star. “Have the Devastator hold its current position.”

 

“Yes, My Lord,” he bowed as Vader turned away from him and swept from the hanger bay.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Alone in his quarters Vader immediately accessed the channel Wermis had opened for him. Closing himself to everything else bar the Force he closed his eyes and reached out. There was anxiety among the crew; the news of the Death Star was spreading along with a nervousness about the silence the ship was maintaining along with its position. There were questions about his actions, but no open dissention, there was no air of subterfuge, no sense that anyone was inspecting, or informing on, his actions. It was safe to continue.

 

It didn’t take long.

 

“My Lord Vader,” the rough voice broke through the comm seconds before the flickering hologram appeared. The man sounded surprised.

 

“I have need of your talents, Fett.”

 

“Any particular one?” There was humour in the man’s voice and, not for the first time, Vader wondered if Fett would be as amiable with him, would take his money from him, if he knew that under all the darkness the man he was speaking with was Anakin Skywalker.

 

_It is good you remember yourself, my friend._

 

Vader growled at Obi-Wan’s self righteous humour and dismissed his thoughts, giving Fett his whole attention. “You will rendezvous with my ship at these co-ordinates and at the stated time,” Vader sent the information. “We will discuss the talents then.”

 

The hologram leaned forward, reading. “I’m in the middle of a job, I cannot break...”

 

“Your job is not important to me.”

 

“I have a...”

 

“I will triple your fee.”

 

There was a pause and Vader could almost feel the man’s humour as he answered. “Then my talents are yours, My Lord.”

 

Vader shut off the channel satisfied that Fett would be there at the given time.

 

He closed his eyes, drew in a breath and gathered the Force around him for his next task. This one would not be as palatable. He opened his eyes and accessed the internal communications system, brought the visual feed from his shuttle hanger bay to his screen. He could see the medic still standing by the ship, could feel the man’s chagrin. His pilot was close by inspecting the shuttle’s lifters.

 

It was with some regret that Vader focused on the hanger bay doors, concentrated on the shielding systems.

 

_Anakin, no! Luke wouldn’t want this..._

 

The Force drew closer, the darkness reaching out for the door controls activating them, opening them and blowing everything not tied down out into space, including the young pilot and the medic. Alarms sounded, there was horror on the bridge and the doors slammed shut. No doubt Wermis was already ordering an investigation.

 

_Anakin..._

 

He ignored the quiet voice of regret as a pain shuddered through his body, his bones seemed to grate at his shoulders, his head throbbed.

 

The boy was awake!

 

His comm chimed.

 

“What is it?”

 

Wermis appeared on the screen before him. “There has been an accident, My Lord, the hanger doors...”

 

“I am aware of the incident, Captain.”

 

The Imperial seemed to shift uneasily; he looked to the side as someone else spoke and nodded. “Um... My Lord, the prisoner is awake.”

 

“Thank you, Captain,” Vader acknowledged as coolly as he could, though his heart hammered at the thought of his child. His son; once thought lost and now found. “I have a new heading. Have the Devastator in the Felucia system by oh-three hundred. We are rendezvousing with a Bounty Hunter to return some property.”

 

Wermis frowned in confusion. “My Lord, I... The Death Star...”

 

Vader closed the comm..

 

ooOOoo

 

 

_Luke?_

 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the harsh lights, desperately seeking the darkness of unconsciousness, wanting nothing more than that blissful ignorance he had been torn from. Pain enshrouded him, seemed to bleed from every pore of his body and he couldn’t hold back the small cries, the moans that the anguish of his body forced from his dry, cracked and bleeding lips.

 

He was alone. Tied down on yet another bench, in yet another cell. There had been people with him earlier. People who had forced him awake to tell him where he was, what was happening and what was going to happen. They had smiled, chuckled, teasing him while tending to his wounds. They had dressed his injuries, hooked him up to fluid drips and medication, and laughed at his pleas for pain relief.

 

“No respite for you, scum,” the words were scored by heartless humour. “We’re to stabilise you, monitor you and wake you. He’ll be coming again, soon.”

 

 He tried to understand what had happened. He had tried to ask who was coming, but his words were mumbled, indistinct even to his own ears. All he knew, all he remembered, was armour and uniforms around him, being beaten, stripped and strapped to a metal slab. He remembered questions that he could not answer and more...

 

... a droid and...

 

Another chuckle as he cried, as the binders on his legs tightened. “If I were you, kid, I’d give him everything he asks for and hope he’s merciful.”

 

Then they were gone and he was alone. Alone with pain, with desolate thoughts of more torture, of the unknown “he” who was coming.

 

_Luke?_

 

He couldn’t do this again. No more. He...

 

He remembered more. The man in black. The man...

 

Vader!

 

Vader had killed Ben. Vader had...

 

He frowned, working around his physical pain, his fractured memories. Vader had reached for him. Vader...

 

...had ordered him killed. Had then changed his mind. Twice.

 

Perhaps this time Vader’s mind would be set and...

 

_Luke, listen._

 

He opened his swollen, bruised eyes, and squinted in the light. His vision was blurred but he could see the blank walls, the flashing monitors to the side of him, the terrible appendages that hung from the ceiling and he hoped that he would never find out what they did.

 

There was no-one with him.

 

_I am here, Luke._

 

Ben? His lips moved, blood wept from the cracks, and he whispered. “Ben?”

 

_He is coming._

 

Terror twisted his gut. “Please, Ben. Help me!”

 

_Listen to him._

 

“Ben... please...”

 

_Listen to him._

ooOOoo

 

 

The brig of the devastator was small; built only to hold a few captives. The Empire did not waste money on taking and holding a large number of prisoners. Those they did keep had to have some significance, some worth. This could be in their status like the Princess Leia Organa, or in the information they may possess, or some value to others that would assist in building ties and relationships that would benefit the Empire. Some were also sold to slave in the Spice Mines. The vast majority, particularly rebels, were executed where they were caught.

 

Vader stood impatiently in the central control room as the duty commander updated him on the prisoner currently held in the med-cell. He had to maintain structure, routines and demonstrate his usual behaviour else someone became suspicious and so he listened to the man describe his son’s condition.

 

“... although none of his injuries are immediately life threatening. We have him hooked up to the stim meds and he is conscious, although concussed.  We have not administered pain relief.”

 

“Will he be able to understand instructions, answer questions?”

 

The man swallowed. “I’m sorry, mi’lord, I cannot guarantee how coherent he’ll be at this time.”

 

“Increase the stim feed, I need him lucid.”

 

“As you wish, My Lord.” The commander bowed his head and turned to obey as Vader dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

 

Vader stepped toward the med-cell door allowing his measured breathing to calm him as the door swept open.

 

The figure tied to the bed was naked once more, even the dressings applied on the Death Star had been stripped from glaring wounds, leaving the boy exposed and helpless, chest heaving with pain and fear. Fury churned deep within the Dark Lord at the maltreatment, but he swallowed it down. The ruse must be maintained for Luke’s future well being. He focussed on the recording equipment, the hidden microphones and cameras, and deactivated them with the Force as he crossed to Luke’s side. The boy’s battered features turned away from him as though by doing so he could escape, or avoid, whatever Vader had planned for him.

 

And now, standing by his injured son, Vader found that words failed him. What to say and how to say it when time was so short and the message and instructions so important and the boy so wounded and terrorised that he may not be able understand enough to follow through?

 

The silence dragged, broken only by his own mechanical breathing and Luke’s gasps as he fought for oxygen against broken ribs, fought against a consciousness forced upon him by powerful drugs - more of which were now pumping into his veins on his father’s commands.

 

_Speak from the heart and he will listen, my friend._

 

“You are the son of the Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker.” It was a statement, not a question and it cut through the boy’s terror, stirred anger in the beaten and bruised spirit and, with great effort, the boy turned his head to regard him through swollen eyes.

 

The mention of his father caught Luke’s attention, sliced through his agony and panic. A sharp twist of anger and pride gave him the strength to face his father’s killer. He swallowed with difficulty, tried to find his voice through his raw throat to throw a curse at the Dark Lord, but his vocal cords could only feebly croak.

 

Vader smiled beneath his mask at the Hutt cuss word the boy had tried to throw at him. If Luke only knew how true the word was. He swallowed his amusement. “You will listen to me and do as I say...”

 

Another curse, the boy coughed, grimaced in pain and turned away from him.

 

Vader fought against his own anger, his own desperation to make the boy understand and to get him safely off the Devastator. The Emperor could only be put off for so long. He reached out, took Luke’s chin and turned his head, forcing the young man to look at him. “You must listen if you wish to live.”

 

Luke tried to struggle, tried to wrench away, terribly afraid of more torture.

 

_Listen to him, Luke..._

 

It was too difficult to listen, too difficult to concentrate above his pain, above the very near presence of Darth Vader and the terror that filled his head with noise, the fear that drove freezing panic through his weakened frame.

 

_Trust him, Luke._

 

“I...” he tried to speak, tried to voice his confusion.

 

“Say nothing,” the Dark Lord warned him as he leaned closer. “Listen...”

 

Luke swallowed, confused by Kenobi’s whisper to trust the very man who had killed him.

 

_Listen..._

 

“You are strong with the Force, child and if you remain here you will die. That is the penalty for traitors and Jedi. Or your presence in the Force may be felt by another and I will be forced to kill you. If you do as I ask, you will live.” The gloved hand moved from his chin as the Dark Lord moved back. “Do you understand?”

 

He didn’t understand. How could he? He knew the meaning of the words, but not the Dark Lord’s intention. But still, he nodded, whispered, “Yes” as he warily watched the large man through swollen and blurry eyes.

 

“I have contacted a bounty hunter,” Vader continued. “He will take you to a safe place where the Emperor will not find you.”

 

_Bounty hunter? Safe? The Emperor?_ It didn’t make sense. Bewilderment burned along with his pain. _The Emperor?_

 

Vader watched the boys expression, gently probed his son’s feelings. So much fear, so much anguish and uncertainty. He fought down his own frustration, fought to explain what was about to happen to a scared child. “The bounty hunter will not know your identity. You must not divulge your true name or all may be lost.”

 

_True name. True identity._ He had already told them his name. _I’m Luke.... I’m Luke...I’m Luke..._

 

“No!” Vader growled, his anger and consternation growing at the boy’s inability to absorb what he was telling him. “You must listen, you must understand. You future depends on this.” His fists closed by his side as he struggled against his own growing despair.

 

_Anakin...please, losing yourself again will not help your son._

 

Vader used his next regulated breath to cool and calm his temper. He was in control; he was the master of this ship and these people. He would make time to explain to Luke and to hell with the Emperor.

 

Palpatine would have to wait.

 

He reached down, turned Luke’s head again, making his son face him. He spoke slowly, methodically, allowing the Force to guide his words. “You are strong with the Force, Luke. You must survive.”

 

And Luke listened, was compelled to listen by the sheer weight and power of the Dark Lord’s words.

 

“You are my....agent, an undercover operative.” He had almost said it, had almost acknowledged their relationship. He relaxed his grip on the boy’s chin, but did not release it. “Your cover is that of an escaped slave. The Bounty Hunter will continue this ruse. He will travel with you to Tatooine as though to return you to your master. Then he will take you to a secure location where you will be safe until I can come for you. Do you understand?”

 

Again, Luke understood the words and their meaning, but the intent remained unclear. Why would his father’s killer wish to save him?

 

_I will help you. I will be with you. Trust him._

 

“Ye..yes...” The answer was a whisper, forced through dry and ragged vocal cords.”Ju...ust not...wh... why.” And he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to the Dark Lord before him, or the voice of Kenobi.

 

Vader moved his hand from his son’s face and smiled beneath his mask with relief, with pride. His son was strong. “There is no time for explanations. I will...” he began.

 

There was a warning, a brief stirring in the Force and Vader stepped abruptly away from the platform. “You must not give your name...” he warned again as the door slashed open. “...Slave!” He viciously back handed Luke, snapping the boy’s head to the side, as a detention centre guard stepped down. He turned on the man in fury. “What do you want?” he snarled.

 

The guard stepped back in shock, the blood immediately draining from his face. He took in the sight of the battered, groaning, youth on the bed, the fresh blood that flowed from burst lips. “I... My Lord,” he bowed, hoping desperately that Vader would forgive the interruption if he displayed due respect. “We are approaching Felucia.”

 

_So soon. Too soon. To be parted from his son..._

 

“Good,” Vader reigned in his anger, glanced at Luke as the boy moaned, as the powerful stimulants in his blood stream kept him conscious. “Then we shall see how this rebel slave feels about being returned to his rightful master. Have him prepared for his journey home.” He swept from the cell as the guard sagged in relief.


	8. Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader acts to secure his son's safety, but can he really trust Boba Fett?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always Star Wars remains the intellectual property of Lucasfilm and Disney... I am merely playing in their sandbox for fun.

Part Eight

 

Luke didn’t fight as they unfastened his bonds and dragged him from the platform. He knew that to fight would bring more pain to add to the agony of his battered and racked body and so he allowed them to dress him in simple white pants and an undershirt, allowed them to bind his hands behind his back and haul him from the cell.

 

He hung in their grasp, feet trailing on the polished floors of the corridors, and let them carry him through the ship. His head drooped and he watched his captors’ boots walk, watched spots of his blood leave a trail of their journey, listened to their curses as they supported his weight. He couldn’t have walked anyway; his legs were useless, ligaments stretched and snapped by the torture he had endured.

 

He didn’t understand this, didn’t understand what Vader had meant, couldn’t understand why the man was saving his life.

 

He grunted in pain as he was lifted, as the guards adjusted their grips on him, wishing he could pass out, wishing that the drugs he had been given would wear off and gift him oblivion from the unrelenting anguish of his body.

 

_Soon, Luke. You can rest soon..._

 

“Ben,” he whispered to the floor as they passed through double doors and entered the confines of a turbolift.

 

 

ooOOoo

 

Fett had eased Slave I into the hangar bay and was in the process of shutting down the engines when the doors of the hangar swept open and Vader entered alone, striding forward toward the ship. Fett took his time, smiling as his fingers danced over the ship’s controls knowing that Vader’s frustrations would be rising at being made to wait for the ramp to lower and the hatch to open. He found Vader much easier to deal with when he had, in some small way, exerted some power over the Dark Lord; even if it was only keeping him waiting for a few extra minutes.

 

Although, even he knew, not to push the man too far if he wished to live another day. He punched the hatch release and pulled himself from the pilot’s chair; time to see what Vader’s important job was. He donned his helmet before leaving the ship.

 

The Dark Lord was standing, thumbs in his belt, watching as he walked down the ramp. He nodded in greeting offering, “My Lord,” as his feet touched the deck plates.

 

“Fett,” Vader rumbled, putting as much rancour into his voice as possible with one word, annoyed at the bounty hunter’s continued audacity to test his patience. One day Fett would push him too far and suffer the consequences. “Your cargo will be here shortly. You will ask no questions and follow my instructions precisely.”

 

Fett was intrigued, but held his silence.

 

There was a shiver in the Force and Vader turned away, tilted his head as though he were listening to something. He smiled beneath his helmet; his son was near. Steeling himself for what he had to do, for what he was about to lose once more, he turned back to the waiting bounty hunter.

 

“You will take the cargo to Tatooine and return it to its owner,” he forced disgust into his voice.

 

Boba shifted his weight, frowning beneath his helmet. It sounded like Vader was reciting from a script, had rehearsed his lines. Intrigued, he bowed his assent. “As you wish, my lord.”

 

Vader turned away from him as the bay doors opened and two troopers entered half carrying, half dragging a huddled, bloodied, figure between them.

 

“Put it into the cargo hold,” the Dark Lord ordered, coldly. He forced down his feelings, forced down the sudden impulse to take Luke from the soldiers and carry his son to safety himself.

 

Boba glanced to Vader in surprise, looking for an explanation, but the Dark Lord ignored him as the soldiers drew near and Fett had only a few brief moments to look over his passenger before the man was bundled up the ramp and into his ship.

 

“Who is he?” He asked, curiously, ignoring Vader’s command; the captive had obviously under gone extensive interrogation, was broken and beaten and yet Vader was releasing him from custody.

 

“It is a slave,” Vader told him curtly before striding up the ramp after his men, wanting to be near Luke, to watch over him and to ensure that the soldiers did not hurt him any more than was necessary.

 

Fett followed at his back.

 

The Dark Lord watched as the troopers dumped Luke on the floor of the hold and undid his restraints. They brought his arms forward and upward to secure the bloodied and raw wrists in binders that Fett had fused to the wall. Luke groaned in pain at the movement and looked up at the man who towered over him. Vader nodded his head in acknowledgement and, as the soldiers stepped away, he activated the controls of a force cage and a half circle of shielding fell between them.

 

Boba Fett crouched low for a closer look at his passenger. He frowned, the man was young, merely a boy. His breathing was laboured; quick gasps of pain as air entered and exited a chest constricted by shattered ribs and a gaping, weeping, burn wound on his shoulder. One arm was misshapen, broken and forced into the cuff above his head. The slave’s shoulders looked disjointed and the legs splayed before him seemed loose and useless.

 

The boy must be in incredible pain and yet he uttered no words, no protests, just the quiet inhale and exhale punctuated with whispered gasps.

 

“Leave us,” Vader ordered his men. “Return to your duties.”

 

Fett stood, listening to the troopers footsteps recede and waited for Vader to talk now that they were in the private confines of the ship and alone.

 

He didn’t need to wait long.

 

“You are to take him to Tatooine and return him to his master.”

 

Fett nodded, still watching the youth, not missing the fact that Vader was now addressing the boy as “him” and not “it”. This was more than a simple run to return a fugitive slave. “I need the name of his master.”

 

Vader didn’t look at him, his focus solely on his son. “I’ll leave that detail to you. There must be several slave owners on Tatooine missing property and offering bounty. Chose one.”

 

 “And once I have?”

 

“Take the boy as though to deliver him, then eliminate the slave master. Leave no trace.”

 

Understanding slid into place. This youth was to disappear. “If I have to kill the owner, what of the boy?”

 

This was the hardest part, this was the most dangerous aspect of his hastily constructed plan to keep Luke safe. He was going to have to trust Fett.

 

“You will take him to a secure location of your choice and have his wounds tended. Keep him safe until I can make contact and retrieve him. Tell no-one where he came from,” he paused to make his instructions clear. “I am not to know his whereabouts until I contact you.”

 

Surprised, Fett turned to him and then to the boy. He hunkered down once more to the prisoner’s eye level, trying to gauge the youth before him, wondering what it was that Vader was trying hide, and from whom.

 

“Who is he?” he asked again as blue, pain filled, eyes warily watched him.

 

“I warned you against asking questions, Fett, and I have tolerated several. Ask no more.”

 

“Fett,” the boy whispered, “Boba Fett.” He closed his eyes, his head dropped and he sagged against the chains with a low moan as he finally gave voice to his pain.

 

Fett grinned, stood. “He’s heard of me.”

 

“You would be wise not to underestimate him,” Vader warned, not surprised that Luke would have heard of the bounty hunter; as a native of Tatooine his son would have some knowledge of the planet’s criminal underworld. However, he wanted Fett to have some uncertainty about Luke, to have some respect for the unknown qualities that Luke possessed. He needed to put doubt into the bounty hunter’s mind about who and what Luke was.

 

He stood for a moment, regarding his child, feeling desperation scrabble in his chest, constricting it. It had been a long time since he felt like this, a long time since he had felt events slipping from his grasp. He had only just found Luke and now he was to send him away to save him, send him away into the unknown.

 

_I will be with him, my friend..._

Vader suppressed the growl that rose in his throat at Obi-Wan’s voice. Was he supposed to take comfort from that assertion? Trouble had always followed his old master and it had been up to him to rescue Kenobi time and again.

 

_Cato Nemoidia doesn’t count...._

 

Vader stifled his smile, torn between his old feelings of camaraderie and his fury at Obi-Wan for his betrayal. He gathered his wrath, used it to give him the strength to address his son before leaving him.

“Remember my words, boy,” his tone was duracrete rage, a warning, a threat. And, although Luke would not realise it, they were solely for Fett’s benefit and part of the ruse. “Do not fail me.”

 

Luke glanced up, terror and uncertainty crossing his bruised features. He loosely nodded, before dropping his gaze, his confusion and distress at his situation racking his body with painful tremors.

 

 Vader turned, tore himself away, and Fett closed off the cargo hold before following Vader to the hatchway and ramp.

 

“My payment,” Fett made sure his words were a statement and not a question. His mind was already planning his movements while considering where in the galaxy he was going to take and hide Vader’s “cargo.”

 

“I have already made a transfer of funds in our agreed manner,” Vader explained, turning back to him. “You will receive substantially more when I arrive to collect the boy.”

 

Boba briefly bowed his head. “You are too generous, my lord.”

 

Vader had a final warning for him. “I will know if any harm comes to him, bounty hunter,” the dark helmet turned to regard him. “I will not be forgiving.”

 

“I will remember that, my lord.” 

 

Vader’s boots stepped onto the deck plates as the hatch behind him sealed. He walked away, keeping his back to the ship as its engines fired and as it slowly lifted from the floor. He stopped by hangar bay doors listening to throb of the engines as it turned and slid out of the shielding into the vacuum of space.

 

A still silence fell over the cavernous area.

 

He remained motionless, quiet, trying to identify the sudden emptiness that had descended.

 

_“It seems, in your anger, you killed her.”_

 

His fists closed, the leather of his gloves creaking over prosthetic fingers.

 

This was loss. This was the feeling that he had lived with for almost two decades, this was the feeling that had been filled, for a short time, by the discovery of his son. And now, his child was gone and he was left bereft and empty once more.

 

He lifted his head, searched through the Force, and felt his master’s growing impatience.

 

It was right he should feel this way, it was fitting, for this was how Sidious had made him and to feel anything else would make his master suspicious.

 

He gathered the barren emotion, nursed it as he had his previous anger, and took in a regulated, calming, breath.

 

It was time to speak to the Emperor.


	9. Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba Fett contemplates his cargo as Vader makes contact with the Emperor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars, it's characters and situations, are the property of Lucasfilm and Disney. The only profit I get from writing fanfic is the fun I have.

**  Part Nine **

 

Boba Fett’s fingers lightly danced over the controls as he programmed in the co-ordinates for the jump to Tatooine and, as the stars streaked beyond the cockpit, he removed his helmet and gloves and set them down. He relaxed into the pilot’s chair staring unseeing at the chaotic lights beyond the viewing window, thinking of the battered youth in the cargo hold below who Vader had inexplicably placed into his safe keeping.

 

It had been obvious to Fett that the Dark Lord had been putting on an act; a ruse for his own men. He had called the prisoner ‘it’ while in the hanger and in front of the soldiers who had dragged the boy into the ship but, in private, he had changed to “him,” acknowledging the youth as a person, not a commodity or a thing. Vader’s distain and distaste for the boy had disappeared as soon as his personnel had been out of earshot. If Fett was not mistaken he would have thought that Vader had been distracted by the boy - had cared.

 

He snorted laughter at the ridiculous thought. The Dark Lord’s fury with the youth, the venom in his warning to the boy not to fail him had been cold; a bitter caution of unspoken penalties.

 

But then there had been a warning for him; _“I will know if any harm comes to him, bounty hunter. I will not be forgiving.”_

 

So, who was the boy, _what_ was the boy?

 

_“You would be wise not to underestimate him.”_

Fett fisted his right hand and grimaced with distaste as an old memory surfaced; the arena on Geonosis, the swing of a lightsaber blade as it took his father’s head from his shoulders.

 

Could the boy be a Force user like Vader? A wizard like the damned Jedi. It had been rumoured that Vader once had an apprentice; could this be him, or his replacement? Or was he just one of the Dark Lord’s favoured operatives being sent back into the field after receiving punishment for failing?

 

Didn’t Vader just kill those who failed him?

 

It was a shame he didn’t have access to a facility that could take a count of the boy’s midichlorian levels without setting off an alarm somewhere in the galaxy. Although, he knew he couldn’t kill the youth, couldn’t risk having Vader as his enemy, but it would be good to have some knowledge about his passenger.

 

However, Vader had warned against asking questions and the galaxy just wasn’t big enough to hide from the Dark Lord’s wrath. The entire Jedi order had tried and failed; falling to Vader one after another until they were wiped out completely.

 

Fett smiled, cracked his knuckles. He had never thanked Vader for that particular act, would liked to have witnessed the death of one particular Jedi Master.

 

He reached out, picked up a datapad and flicked it on. He stabbed at the keys as he brought up the current list of posted bounties. He dismissed most of them, concentrated only on those of missing or runaway slaves from Tatooine.

 

There weren’t many and it didn’t take long for him to have the list whittled down to just two choices. He brought the faces of the slaves onto to the screen beside one another and studied his choices.

 

He had guessed the boy to be in his late teens and only these two fit that age group as well as his approximate height and weight. However, both were the wrong colouring; dark haired and just one had blue eyes.

 

Not that he intended their owners to get a close look at the captive.

 

He considered their faces; saw the despair in their eyes, the fear and hatred of their lot. But which one suited his needs most?

 

The slave of the parts dealer from Mos Espa, or the Slave of the moisture farmer from the outskirts of Bestine?

 

He called up more information on both the owners, noted the bounties posted and scowled. Neither were amounts that he would normally go after, leaving both slaves to lesser, more inexperienced hunters. However, he had little choice if he was carry out Vader’s demands.

 

The dealer was in the centre of Mos Espa near the docking bays. This would be ideal for witnesses to see his taking the boy into the building, good for a quick get away, but how to get the boy out without the same witnesses seeing two leaving?

 

The farm, on the other hand, was more isolated, but the farmer well off. There were more slaves, more witnesses, but he was also a family man and despite his reputation Fett was not in the business of wholesale slaughter.

 

He shut off the data pad, tapped it lightly on the edge of the console as he considered his choices and his plans for Vader’s ruse.

 

He frowned at his thoughts; this was a scam, a dodge, but just who was it for? Who was Vader trying to trick and throw off track?

 

And where would he take the boy once it had played out?

 

He threw the datapad onto the empty co-pilot’s chair, drew himself up and grabbed the portable medkit from the overhead storage. It was time to check on his cargo.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

_“Stay awake, Luke.”_

 

The gentle, but commanding, tones cut through the haze of pain and Luke forced his eyes open to squint into the gloom. He dimly recognised the faint flickering lights in front of him as a force cage, vaguely understood that he was chained to a wall in the cold cargo hold of a ship, knew the thrumming tremors that ran through his body was the vibration of the ship’s engines and his own beaten body’s instinctive efforts to retain heat.

 

He closed his eyes again wanting to succumb to darkness, to peace, wanting nothing more than to escape the pain of his body and the thudding of his head. He was so tired.

 

“ _Luke.”_

 

His leg muscles cramped, drawing a whimper from between parched and cracked lips. He tried to bring moisture to his mouth, to his thickening tongue, tried to swallow. He gagged, dryly, trying to remember the last time his body had fluids.

 

_“Luke, looked at me.”_

It took effort, but Luke cracked his eyes open again and smiled at what he saw; knowing his brain was playing tricks with.

 

Ben Kenobi stood within the lights of the force cage.

 

Luke knew what this was; growing up on Tatooine one of the first things you learn is of the importance of water and the effects of dehydration.  This was a hallucination, this was his brain misfiring. He shook his head, trying to shake away the image of the dead Jedi, he was too tired for this.

 

_“You need to stay awake, Luke.”_

 

There was a sudden flare of fluorescent light, a scrape of metal upon metal and a brief draft of air brushed against his skin as the Force cage winked out of sight taking Kenobi with it.

 

“’B...e....Be...Ben..” he whispered as a shadow fell over him. Afraid, he glanced up, peered through the swollen flesh around his eyes at the man who bent over him.

 

“Still awake, huh?” Fett noted, not expecting an answer. “Just how much stim did they pump into you?”

 

The bounty hunter undid the clasps that held the boys wrists in the binders and caught him as he fell with a groan. He barely had the strength to cry out as he was laid on the floor, lips moving with silent whispers. Fett moved quickly and with the assurance of one who knew field care. His experience of growing up with Jango Fett as his father, growing up among clones who were training for war, his years of bounty hunting since Geonosis and patching up himself and his prey for delivery had taught him a medical knowledge that many true medics would envy.

 

“Ple..ase...” the word was cracked, broken, pushed out through a throat damaged by screams and desiccated by thirst.  “Wa...wa...ter...”

 

A quick visual noted the broken wrists – defensive wounds – the deep burn on the boy’s shoulder, the dried blood around the hairline from a head injury, cuts, abrasions and contusions marred all visible skin and Fett knew that under the stained clothing that he would find more of the same.

 

He cracked open the medpac, immediately setting up a rehydration unit and fixing it to Luke’s arm. He lined up a vein, noting needle marks already marking the skin, and cursed as it collapsed. He changed arms and found another and inserted the line into the blood vessel. He strapped the unit in place and slipped a clear bag of saline into the casing, smiling as the fluid transfer registered in the green.

 

“Wa...t..er, plea..se. Wa..ter.”

 

He placed the scanner on the boy’s chest watching the readouts on his charge’s condition. He had a low grade fever from an infection growing in the burn, his blood pressure was low but slowly rising now he was getting fluids, his respiration was shallow, but rapid; a testimony to the pain of cracked ribs and dehydration. He would have watch those ribs, less the boy puncture a lung, but for now his oxygenation was adequate.

 

There was no internal bleeding, the Imperials being expert at inflicting pain without fatally injuring their subjects. However, the boy’s legs and arms had been pulled from their sockets, ligaments snapped and popped under pressure. The fractures at the wrists had also stretched and it appeared to be that that had saved the boys hands by keeping the shards of bone straight and away from blood vessels.

 

He frowned as the scanner showed evidence that many of the wounds had already received some treatment. There was evidence of bacta, of antibiotics, of wounds being previously cleaned.

 

The Imps had really given the boy the works, had treated his worst injuries and had gone at him again. He must be in agony.

 

Once more, Fett had to wonder who he was - what he was - for Vader to instigate such punishment and then to save him and send him away.

 

The scanner began to scroll through suggested treatments, but Fett switched it off. The youth was supposed to be a slave, not worth a bounty hunter wasting money on. It would be up to a slave’s master to decide either to treat, or cut his losses and destroy his property. The boy would have to wait a few hours longer before he could dress his wounds. All he could do just now was to maintain his patient’s fluids and administer a broad spectrum antibiotic for the fever.

 

“Ple...”

 

Fett reached into the medkit and withdrew a water bulb and cracked it open. He slid his hand behind the boy’s head and tilted it, placing the rim of the container to the cracked and bleeding lips.

 

Lost in the miasma of pain Luke could do nothing but allow the man to do what he wanted, he couldn’t fight, couldn’t protest, couldn’t defend himself in anyway. He lay still with eyes shut, pleading for water while wondering what further horrors awaited him at the hands of Boba Fett.

 

He knew of this bounty hunter. Had grown up with tales of his deeds, of how he captured and tortured prey, of how he mercilessly dispatched anyone who got in his way. Hadn’t he and Biggs played at “Bounty Hunters” when they were younger, scampering around the homestead firing pretend blasters at each other. Didn’t Biggs always want to be Boba Fett?

 

He opened his eyes as a hand angled his head up and cool, sweet water spilled into his mouth and understanding slowly penetrated his headache that Fett was helping him and not hurting him intentionally.

 

“Sip,” Fett told him.

 

It was painful to swallow, but the water was so good; wetting his lips, his tongue and soothing his parched throat. “Thank... you.”

 

Fett lifted the water away and sat back on his haunches; watching the boy watch him. “So,” he said finally. “’You got a name?”

 

_“Tell him it’s classified.”_

 

Ben’s voice made him smile and he closed his eyes, turned away from the bounty hunter. “Class....ssified,” he echoed.

 

The smile and answer chilled Fett; the boy was either completely indoctrinated and thus truly one of Vader’s men, or completely out of it.

 

Fresh blood trickled from the youth’s lips as the bounty hunter turned his head back and placed the water bulb back to his mouth. He allowed a few more sips. “I need to call you something. We might be together for a while.”

 

_“Say nothing, Luke.”_

 

“Lu...ke,” he dully repeated, just as he had in that cell on the Death Star. He was tired, so tired.

 

The boy wasn’t making sense, eyes beginning to sleepily close as the stims the Imps had filled him with finally began to wear off.

 

Fett pressed him. “Look?”

 

_“No, Luke! Remind him about Vader!”_

 

Luke swallowed, fought against Ob-Wan’s voice, the frustration in it, wanting nothing more to slip into the darkness he felt closing warmly around him. “V...a...der.”

 

Fett frowned in confusion as his charge’s body relaxed into unconsciousness, head rolling to the side as he began to lightly snore.

 

So, the kid wouldn’t say his name, wouldn’t – or couldn’t – divulge his identity. But what in the hells did he mean with ‘Look Vader?’ Was it a warning? A reminder that Vader had advised him not to ask questions? Or did it mean something else?

 

Look. Vader.

 

An icy chill abruptly flooded through him. He stood up quickly from the sleeping boy, backed away; shock and horror thrilling through him as an absurd thought cross his mind freezing him to the core.

 

Not “look Vader.”

 

But “Luke Vader.”

 

Was that why the Dark Lord was trying to hide him? Was it because this boy was his son that Vader’s warnings were so severe?

 

He stared at the youth at his feet and drew his blaster, pointing it at the prone figure as though the sleeping, injured youth was capable to jumping up and overwhelming him.

 

Then he laughed, chuckled aloud and re-holstered his weapon. He stepped from the hold berating himself for allowing the Dark Lord to get to him. It was farcical to think that Vader had spawned a child. It was a ridiculous idea borne from a battered youth’s delirium.

 

He paused at the door, and glanced back as the boy mumbled in his sleep. The word sounded like “sorry,” and Fett laughed again, snorting at his own imagination.

 

Any child of Vader’s would be by his father’s side, serving the Empire and commanding fleets, not lying beaten and tortured in the cold hold of a bounty hunter’s ship and facing an uncertain future.

 

He cycled the door shut and dismissed the ludicrous notion.

 

_“I will know if any harm comes to him, bounty hunter. I will not be forgiving.”_

 

ooOOoo

 

He gritted his teeth against the throbbing in his legs. The join between his prosthetics and flesh flashed and flared with pain as he maintained his kneeling position on the holo-projector, but he dared not move as he waited for Palpatine to respond to his transmission. He bore the pain, carried it, drew strength from the anger it stirred in him and used that anger to dull his fear.

 

He winced, fought the urge to shift his position. His didn’t used to fear Palptine. He didn’t used to hate him.

 

He had once looked up to the man as a friend, a confidant, a mentor. Palpatine was once the calming voice that had stilled his fears and had cooled his anger. He missed the distinguished gentleman who fondly called him “my dear boy,” and placed a reassuring hand on his arm or shoulder after his arguments with Obi-Wan or the council and advised against rash actions.

 

Palpatine still called him friend, but there was no friendship in their relationship. Not anymore. Vader was the apprentice and Palpatine was his master. There was no brotherhood, no camaraderie, no spirit of comradeship and equality like the relationship he had enjoyed with his previous master.

 

_I miss you, too, Anakin._

 

Vader ignored the errant thought, crushed Kenobi’s melancholy humour beneath his darkness, banished it to the void and chased away the dead Jedi’s lingering presence. He didn’t understand why Obi-Wan continued to haunt him in this way, couldn’t grasp why his imagination would taunt and tease him.

 

_Anakin..._

 

His life support drew in a measured breath, expelled it and drew in another. He used the time to quell his feelings, to bury them and hide them lest his master feel them even at this great distance. He would have to be careful, he would have to maintain his focus to keep Palpatine placated and unaware...

 

...to keep his son safe.

 

_His son!_

 

There was a swelling of pride, a surge of...

 

...what?

 

A feeling he had never known. A feeling not unlike the one that used to shiver through him when he placed his hand upon Padme’s swollen belly and tease her that the baby was a girl. The feeling was raw, wild, untamed and untainted and he had no name for it.

 

_It is love, Anakin._

 

No. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t the adoration that he had for Padme, the deep affection he once had for Obi-Wan, or the devotion for his mother. This was something he could not explain, or define, something for which he simply did not have the words to describe.

 

_A son!_

_My son._

The child had somehow survived, had been born as his mother had died; just as his dream had shown him.

 

He closed his eyes beneath the mask, used the agony of his legs to burn away the rush of grief that flooded through him. It was an old feeling, a familiar friend that often visited him in his isolation to torment him with guilt, with a wound that refused heal.

 

_You killed her!_

_She betrayed me!_

_You promised to save her and yet it was you who lifted your hands against her._

_She brought him, she brought him to kill me!_

_She was carrying your child!_

 

He groaned in pain, fighting against the internal argument that had raged since Padme’s death, head dipping with decades old anguish.

 

“You are not on board the Death Star, my friend.”

 

Vader’s head dropped further, horror rattling through him at his master catching him at vulnerable moment, angry that he had allowed his thoughts and feelings to wander away from his control at such a crucial moment. Again he gathered his anger, used it to soothe his weaker feelings, used it to deepen and darken the Force around him.

 

“Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead,” he announced, hoping that this news would explain his convoluted feelings and distract Palpatine from questioning those feelings.

 

The Sith master leaned forward, his holographic image towering over Vader. “He resurfaced?”

 

“Yes, master,” Vader intoned. “He was on Tatooine.”

 

“Interesting,” the Emperor intoned distantly. “Interesting that he chose now to show himself. It is also interesting that we have lost contact with the Death Star and that you appear to be orbiting Felucia.”

 

And Vader felt like a young Jedi Knight once more, having to explain to the Council why he was half a galaxy away from where he was supposed to be. He drew in calming breath, gathered the dark side to him and let the Force guide his words.

 

“Tarkin destroyed Alderaan...”

 

“I know,” Palpatine interjected. “I gave the consent. Organa’s treachery could not continue to go unpunished.”

 

Vader paused, considered this briefly and continued. “While in the system we captured a freighter. It carried Kenobi. He, and his companions, freed the Princess Organa. I confronted and killed him as they escaped and...”

 

“They escaped?”

 

Vader swallowed, kept his voice level, his feelings muted. “Not all, master. We captured one, interrogated him and...”

 

Palpatine was not interested in captured rebels. “What of the Organa brat?”

 

“She escaped. I had a homing beacon placed on board their ship. We tracked them to their base of operations on the fourth moon of Yavin. The Death Star was destroyed during the battle, lost when...”

 

“Lost!” the Emperor rasped and Vader could feel his master’s rage across the stars. It was a seething torrent of unspeakable power. It bowed him, dropping him to both knees, forcing his head down and he had to place a hand to floor to stop himself from keeling over.

 

“Lost!”

 

“Master,” he forced out. “Tarkin was a fool, he refused to listen when I advised that we prepare for battle...”

 

“And yet you live, Lord Vader! I did not expect cowardice from you, my friend.”

 

“I live to serve you, my master,” Vader assured him, daring to pull himself back up onto one knee and straightened to look up at his master’s hooded visage.  “I had ordered the prisoner to be transferred to the Devastator, to return him to his master. When it was clear that Tarkin was taking the Death Star to its demise I boarded the shuttle before it left.”

 

“Prisoner?” the Emperor questioned. “What prisoner?”

 

“The rebel captured during Organa’s escape,” Vader reminded him, loathed to mention the boy again, but needing to explain himself more fully. “We identified him as a runaway slave and contacted a bounty hunter to rendezvous at Felucia. I thought returning him to his master a more fitting punishment than death.”

 

Palpatine was silent and Vader could feel the man searching through the Force, could feel his blackened presence flood into the chamber around him. Even at such a great distance he was not immune to Palaptine’s corruption. He braced himself, allowed the facts to speak for themselves.

 

“The Death Star is destroyed. The Princess Organa escaped. The Rebels are on Yavin Four and you are at Felucia overseeing the transfer of a _slave_ after abandoning your post!” Palpatine was apoplectic, his voice harsh and cold with disbelief.

 

Vader said nothing. He could feel his heart rate increase, the blood rushing through his body as unfamiliar adrenalin flooded his system. It had been a long time since he had felt fear this strongly, a long time since he had felt this alive!

 

He kept his eyes to the floor giving his master time to gather his wits and calm. He knew he could be recalled to Imperial Centre, knew that he could face severe penalties for his actions, but he also knew that Palpatine still needed him and he wasn’t just another lackey that the Emperor could dispose of on a whim.

 

The Rule of Two would save his life; there was no other who could replace the Jedi’s fallen Chosen One.

 

_There is Luke..._

 

He quashed the thought instantly.

 

“You disappointment me, Lord Vader,” Palpatine coolly stated, his facade calm, his voice like glass; smooth and translucent. “It seems that Kenobi’s reappearance has shaken you, I sense conflict within you.”

 

“No conflict, my master,” Vader denied, smiling, but he tempered his feelings lest Palpatine sense his victory. “I have waited for this moment for a long time. I am merely disappointed he died so quickly.”

 

“Hmm,” the Emperor mused, a little humour playing in his tones like a father feigning anger with his restless child after the initial ire has passed; needing to be convinced of his offspring’s remorse. “He was your teacher for a long time. It is natural that you would feel this way. Even those of us who reside in darkness can grieve.”

 

“There is no grief,” Vader assured him.

 

“Very well,” Palpatine discarded the moment. “I should summon you to answer for your negligence...” he let the threat hang, enjoying the moment. “But I have need of your talents, my friend.

 

“I am yours to command, my master.”

 

“Gather the fleet and go to Yavin. Route out the Rebels, destroy them and bring Organa to me.”

 

“As you wish,” Vader bowed low as the Emperor’s hologram vanished, feeling relief flood through him as the connection was severed.

 

His son was safe.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Palpatine sat for a moment behind his desk contemplating the deactivated holoprojector and replaying the conversation he had just had with Vader in his mind. He could feel the conflict within his servant no matter how much Vader denied it, he could also sense the truth in his words and yet there was something about the conversation, a lingering feeling that Vader had been deflecting the exchange away from something important.

 

_“We identified him as a runaway slave and contacted a bounty hunter to rendezvous at Felucia. I thought returning him to his master a more fitting punishment than death.”_

 

The Sith Lord linked his fingers, rested his chin on his knuckles. Vader was still sensitive about slavery, had been unable to shake the feelings of resentment that he had unwittingly nurtured as a child, as Anakin Skywalker, while growing up as another being’s property. It had been these feelings that had aided him in turning the young man, the slow burning anger that Anakin had tried to bury deep inside had been easy to reach and flame with carefully placed words and doubts.

 

Vader had always been particularly brutal toward slave owners, had taken delight and relish in butchering them when the opportunity had presented itself and yet he now returns a runaway slave to his owner as punishment for an act on treason.

 

It was a harsh punishment, one fitting of Vader’s status as a Dark Lord of the Sith, however it was an act that Palpatine was suspicious of purely because of Anakin Skywalker’s origins.

 

There was an untruth buried within the truth; something about this slave.

 

He activated his comm, didn’t wait to be acknowledged. “Contact the Captain of the Devastator. I want a report on the ship’s movements. I want reports from all stations. I want to know everything that has occurred on that ship since Lord Vader boarded with his prisoner.”

 

“As you wish, Sire.”

 

Palpatine smiled. “Make it a general request, through Naval Command. There is no need to frighten the man.” That would only alert Vader.

 

He switched the comm off and closed his eyes, drawing the dark of the Force closer, wrapping its folds around him, relishing its strength, its purity.

 

Again he smiled; soon he would know what it was that Vader was trying to hide.

 

 


	10. Part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba Fett returns a "runaway slave" to his master...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As always I lay no claim to the Star Wars copyright - it all belongs to Disney and Lucasfilm. I just like playing in their sandbox.
> 
> Also, I had fun with the Huttese in this chapter...

** Part 10 **

 

Boba Fett bodily dragged his young charge through the busy streets of Mos Espa. It was early evening and the street trading was at its peak as the twin suns began their slow descent into twilight. The air was cooler, drawing the population out of their homes. Fett and the boy had attracted a few curious glances which was what the bounty hunter had hoped for, and why he had finally settled on taking the boy to the parts dealer in Mos Espa. The other choice, the farm, was too isolated and too many innocents stood to be killed.

 

The spaceport allowed witnesses who would see him taking the slave in and leaving alone with his payment. Those who glanced their way saw only a known bounty hunter and his prey; some grinned at the boy’s plight, others quickly looked away helplessly shaking their heads with pity or guilt.

 

Another runaway slave captured. Another slave going to suffer at his master’s hands.

 

Luke grunted, his laboured breathing punctuated with hitches of pain, and Fett couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for him as he adjusted his grip and hauled him further upright. The boy had been quiet since he had been awakened by a powerful stim shot and remained silent as Fett explained where they were and what his plans were. He had hissed in pain as the bounty hunter had encircled his wrists with the widest cuffs he owned, ones that encased the shattered wrists and lower arms in solid metal and acted as splints.

 

Fett had no idea how much the young man had understood; the blue eyes were hazy with pain and had difficulty focusing on him despite the high levels of stimulant in his blood stream.

 

 As he was unable to walk, Fett had slung the bound arms around his own neck and manhandled him off the floor of the cargo hold, dragging him from the ship while ignoring the gasps of pain and the muted protests and, as they had journeyed through the spaceport, the youth had fallen silent and limp, allowing Fett to take him where he pleased.

 

Boba paused outside the parts dealer’s property. It was a single story building, run down and crumbling on the outside, but he didn’t miss the new security camera above the thick metallic door. It was either a response to losing a slave, or to losing some other property to the scum that populated the area around the docking bays.

 

“Here we go, kid,” he warned, under his breath. “Either play your part or stay quiet.”

 

Fett smiled at the grunt that he got as a response - maybe the kid did understand - and stepped across the threshold into a dimly lit interior that suited his purposes perfectly. He quickly surveyed the shop; the shelves, splitting the area into three aisles, were all stacked high with boxes and crates that seemed to be haphazardly labelled. One of the larger boxes on the floor would suit his needs once the deal had been done, and he grinned beneath his helmet when he spotted the repulsor sled that sat just within the doorway.

 

This whole set-up was ideal.

 

There was a low service counter running along the width of the room and behind it a large Gran who was just turning away from a human customer to glance at the newcomers. Its three black eyes blinked in unison, and Fett took the gesture as being one of surprise; after all, it wasn’t every day that Boba Fett walked into your shop.

 

He lost no time. He dumped Luke onto the dusty floor.

 

“I believe this is yours, Gran.”

 

The Gran peered briefly over the counter at the loose bundle groaning on the floor and excused himself from his customer. He lumbered out onto the shop floor and bent down for a closer look at Fett’s prisoner, grabbing a handful of the boy’s hair and lifting his head from the floor. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the battered and swollen face looking for recognisable features among the bruises.

 

“Bosha bacha me cheet’ta ba, Murishani?”

 

Fett shrugged. “It wasn’t me, kid got on the wrong side of the Imps. Just give me what you owe me and he’s all yours.”

 

The Gran let Luke’s head drop to the floor and wiped his large hand on his clothing with disgust. “Mah bukee do channa shag, do channa poodo cha Jabba rancor.”

 

“That may be,” Fett agreed; it was true that the kid in his current state would cost his master a fortune to heal, and the parts dealer could cut his losses by selling the boy to Jabba as a meal for his pet rancor. He shifted his weight, placing his hand on his holster while keeping his eye on the Gran’s customer who was watching the exchange with interest and showing no intention of leaving.

 

But then, Fett realised, it was to his advantage if the man stayed; that way there would be two corpses to leave behind him, one Gran, one human slave.

 

“What you do with him doesn’t concern me, I just want to be paid.”

 

“Pl...e..ase, ma...master....” Luke reached out toward the Gran who flinched back from the touch of a slave.

 

Fett grinned behind his helmet as the boy played his part, adding to the authenticity of the lie; the kid had been taking it all in. He had guts and, again, he had to wonder at his origins and why Vader wanted him hidden so badly that this ruse was necessary.

 

“Schutta, kung!” The Gran shouted at the boy, viciously kicking him, catching him in the ribs with an audible crack. The shopkeeper spat on the floor, then turned on Fett announcing, “Mi nobata wamma mah shag. Mah bukee nee choo!”

 

Fett spared a glance at the prisoner, concerned about the damage done by the kick but powerless to react as the boy gasped, incapable of crying out. “You’re right, he will die, but I wasn’t responsible for his injuries. I kept him alive for you and expect to be paid in full, plus the medical costs.”

 

The Gran was incredulous, he turned open-mouthed to the waiting and watching customer. It was the moment that Fett had been waiting for. He pulled his blaster and shot the Gran in the back, then caught the human in the chest before he could react. The bounty hunter quickly locked the door and checked the rest of the building, securing the back entrance before checking that the Gran and his customer were dead.

 

Only once he was satisfied they would not be interrupted did he turn his attention to the boy gasping for breath of the floor.

 

“Hu...rts....” the boy told him, struggling against the pain to breathe.

 

“You did good, kid.” Fett checked him over, saw the blood flecks that speckled the skin around Luke’s nose and mouth when he exhaled. This wasn’t good; the Gran’s kick had caught the boy’s already cracked ribs, possibly puncturing a lung, or worse. Vader’s cargo could be living on borrowed time unless he could get him back to the ship and to the medkit.

 

He needed to move fast. “Hang in there,” he told him, knowing his own fate depended on getting his young companion to a proper medical facility alive. If the boy were to die, he knew he’d spend the rest of his life running from Vader.

 

He hastily emptied one of the larger crates and dragged it onto the repulsor cart. He withdrew his vibroblade and punched a hole in the lid. He then kneeled at Luke’s side. “You know what I need to do?”

 

Luke drew in a short hitched breath, nodded loosely, let it out and hitched in another.

 

Fett placed his arm under his knees, under his arms, and lifted him from the floor, lowering him into the box, knowing all the while that any movement was agony, any movement could be making the kid’s condition worse, could be killing him.

 

“Just keeping breathing, kid.”

 

Gasping for air Luke’s head fell back against the box side as Fett sealed the lid above him, plunging him into a darkness illuminated by a single stream of light from the air hole. It was on that that he focused as he took one agonising breath after another.

 

Working quickly, Fett searched the shelves until he found the fuel cells he was looking for. He then primed a proton grenade to explode a few minutes after they had left and set it on the shelf among the cells. He returned to the repulsor sledge, activated it and moved it out of the door into the evening twilight.

 

Just as he crossed the threshold, he looked back and called, “Pleasure doing business with you!”

 

He was pushing the cart up the ramp of Slave I when an explosion ripped through the market district of Mos Espa.

 

ooOOoo

 

“My Lord Vader, the fleet has reverted from hyperspace and we are approaching the Yavin system,” Captain Wermis advised from behind his superior’s back. “We are awaiting your orders.”

 

Vader gritted his teeth in annoyance; he could see for himself that they were approaching Yavin. The red giant was steadily growing in the view port and hiding behind it was the fourth moon where the Rebel Alliance had secreted themselves.

 

Not that he expected them to still be there: their command would know that the wrath of Palpatine would be loosed upon them as soon as word reached him about the loss of the Death Star.

 

No, they and the Princess Organa would have evacuated long ago and all he would be able to do was shift through their trash for clues to their next location.

 

He wanted to be elsewhere; he wanted to be with his son, the child that he could no longer sense through the Force. It may be the distance between them was now too great, it may be that Luke was succumbing to his injuries, or....

 

_He is safe, Anakin._

 

The echo of Obi-Wan did little to soothe him, instead it stirred his anger and he turned on Wermis, growling out in frustration, “Spread out the fleet to block escape from the system and prepare for a surface attack.”

 

“As you wish, my Lord.” Wermis blanched at the furious tones, bowed and turned away. As he moved to the comm. to relay Vader’s orders, he was handed a datapad by a nervous young officer who couldn’t seem to stop himself from staring at Vader’s back. Annoyed at the interruption Wermis quickly glanced over the information and returned the datapad to the waiting lieutenant.

 

“See to this yourself,” he stated; he had no time to waste for general updates to central command, not when he had an attack to co-ordinate and not when Vader was in such a foul mood.

 

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant drew himself straight, thrilled at having the responsibility.

 

“Wait.”

 

The soft rumble from the Dark Lord stopped the young man, and he visibly swallowed the sudden lump of fear that formed at the base of throat.

 

“Let me see that.” Vader held out his hand and took the offered datapad. He glanced through the request from the Naval Command on Imperial Centre. It was a general request for an update on ship operations, there was nothing unusual about it...

 

... and yet. There was something about it that made him uneasy, something that made the Force buzz with anticipation.

 

He closed his eyes drawing the Force to him, feeling the power fill him, feeling the tendrils of darkness reach for him, feeling their welcome, their cool embrace. He moved among them, casting each aside as it failed to answer his questions.

 

_You will not find your answers here, Anakin._

 

He stopped at the gentle warning, the soft tones of his teacher.

 

_You must look elsewhere if you wish to protect your son._

 

He turned as a spark of light glittered in the darkness. It was tiny, it was barely aglow, it was...

 

_“...your son, Anakin.”_

 

... like a flickering flame that would be extinguished with one puff of breath.

 

_“Tread carefully, my friend, one cannot see in darkness.”_

 

He opened his eyes, saw Wermis and the lieutenant expectantly waiting on his response. He handed the datapad back to the young officer. He had no doubt that the request had come through Palpatine and it had to be answered. He could only trust that, suspicious though they may be, he had sufficiently explained his movements and that Fett would succeed in protecting his son long enough for the boy to heal and for them to be reunited.

 

_“And then what? Will you smother his light as Palpatine did yours?”_

 

Vader ignored the whisper of...

 

_...hope..._

 

_...of a light merely concealed..._

 

...his dead master, dismissed his thoughts and brought his attention to immediate concerns.

 

“Carry on, captain.”

 

ooOOoo

 

Once on board his ship Fett had no time to relax or congratulate himself on a successful plan. He abandoned the crate by the hatch as it closed and sealed, immediately going to the cockpit. He cycled the ship through the start-up procedure, skipped over the checklists, and took her into the air.

 

He had little scope or choice for his next destination. The boy needed a top of the range medical facility to treat his wounds and so Fett instinctively set the co-ordinates for their next destination before dragging himself from the pilot’s chair and returning to the box by the hatch.

 

He popped the lid and heaved out the dead weight of the semi-conscious boy out of the box, manhandling him through the ship to the crew sleeping quarters where he lifted him onto his own bunk. It was the only one on the ship that was also a basic medical bench equipped with oxygen, fluid links and diagnostic tools. He’d had to make use of it himself over the years.

 

After removing his helmet and discarding it, Fett straightened Luke’s body and removed the cuffs from the swollen wrists. He checked for the wrist pulse and smiled at the thin but steady beat. It looked like the fractures were stable.

 

 He quickly replaced the saline transfer feed back into the boy’s vein and placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. He switched on the diagnostic scanner and watched with concern as it ran through its program, highlighting for him the same injuries as the portable one had hours earlier. It was the new injury he was more concerned about; the boy’s breathing had worsened, was rapid and shallow as he fought for air.

 

“Shit,” Fett cursed when the scanner confirmed his worst fears: a flail chest. A section of rib cage had broken free and the lung tissue beneath was badly contused; fluid was building in the damaged tissue. “Shit!”

 

He grabbed the medical kit, withdrew a syrette of powerful analgesic, broke the seal and injected it into his patient’s arm. He watched for a reaction, saw the boy’s body relax, eyes rolling in his head as the pain killer took effect. Drawing on all of his field medical knowledge and training, Fett grabbed a sealed package of tubes from the kit and prepared to insert a chest drain.

 

“Stay with me, kid.”

 

ooOOoo

 

 


	11. Part 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Luke fights for his life Vader searches the rebel base of Yavin and the Emperor receives a report from the SD Devastator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always the characters and situations of the Star Wars Universe do not belong to me. My only profit in playing in the universe is the fun I have.

Part 11

 

Darth Vader stood alone in the cavernous hangar of the empty Alliance base. The rebels had run like rodents, scurrying as quickly as they could from the scene, abandoning non essential equipment and fighters freshly damaged in the Death Star skirmish. It would take some time to search the huge Massassi temple, to explore the abandoned barracks, to rifle through the discarded belongings of the rebels who had lived here and plotted their treason.

 

Impatience rippled through him, flaming his anger. He should not be here. He should not be tasked with this meaningless chore. He should be with his son; the child that had been hidden away, secreted and concealed from him on a planet that held nothing but pain, that reminded him only of loss and grief and servitude.

 

Obi-Wan had used his weakness against him, had known that his memories of his childhood and of his mother’s death would keep him away from Tatooine.

 

_“No, Anakin. I took Luke to where he would be safe, to where he would be loved as you once were.”_

 

He closed his eyes, denying Obi-Wan’s words. Would the man never die? Would he be haunted forever by the whispers of a dead man? Would his inner thoughts always be tainted by the tones of his old teacher?

 

_“...brother.”_

 

He threw up his inner shields before the memories could coalesce; but still he caught the scent of sulphur, of charring flesh and burning fabric.

 

He turned as he sensed movement behind him and heard the sound of footsteps approaching across the stone floor.

 

“My Lord, the troops are ready to move into the base.”

 

He tempered his rage, his frustration and addressed his subordinate. “Locate the command centre, search every centimetre of this base...”

 

Even the smallest piece of information could create a lead, could guide them to the Alliance’s leadership; Organa and Mothma could not hide forever and soon the Princess would be back in a cell where she belonged.

 

_“Anakin, no!”_

 

He emptied his mind, concentrated on only this task and silenced the internal voice. Kenobi would influence him no longer. The sooner he had this done, the sooner he could be reunited with his son and then he would introduce Luke to the power of the Force; the power of the Dark Side. They would stand together against Palpatine and the galaxy would be theirs.

 

Father and son.

 

“... leave nothing unturned.”

 

“Yes, My Lord!” The officer bowed his head then gestured his troopers forward and a mass of white armour surged into the base.

ooOOoo

 

 

“...hear me?”

 

“..name?”

 

“....BP’s dropping....”

 

Disjointed voice echoed in the dazzling light around him and he closed his eyes tried to reach for the calm nothingness that seemed to linger just out of his reach. It teased him with a darkness that promised warmth and peace, that promised to release him from the pain that shrouded him; the tearing of his limbs, the burning of his skin, the piercing agony of every breath as he gasped for air.

 

“...look at me?”

 

He forced his eyes open; distorted bodies shifted in the brilliance, strange, cool hands touched him and held him, stroked his brow reminding him of his Aunt Beru.

 

_Aunt Beru? Something... something wrong. My.... home... my Aunt... Uncle..._

 

“No, remain still, child.”

 

A small face and large black eyes briefly emerged from the whiteness to stare down at him before melting into the light.

 

“...deteriorating...”

 

“...need to intubate...”

 

A whine, a shrill bleeping and the lingering shadows suddenly rushed him, catching him as he fell, cradling him, carrying him down to oblivious darkness.

 

ooOOoo

 

 Boba ran a hand across his face, rubbed his cheek, felt the stubble of a few days growth on his chin, and wiped at his tired, stinging eyes. He heaved in a breath of air, listened to the lashing rain and rumbling of thunder from the storm outside as he watched the medics and the droids working to save the boy’s life in the other room.

 

“You seem concerned, Boba.”

 

The bounty hunter turned away from the viewing window, a small smile creasing his lips as Taun We entered the waiting room. It had been too long since he had returned to the place that he once called home. He gestured at the activity next door.

 

“He’s worth a lot of money.”

 

The Kaminoan followed his gesture. “Who is he?”

 

“Just a job.”

 

Taun We glided up beside him, her head cocking to side as she, too, watched. “It would be helpful if we had some background information. If he has allergies, any familial conditions and...”

 

“He’s a job, Taun We, I don’t know anything about him.”

 

An alarm sounded from next door and the activity within increased, sensors flashed red.

 

“Shit,” Fett cursed, Vader’s warning echoing in his mind. “Will he live?”

 

Taun We paused, watching as the boy’s heart rhythm stabilised and as machines took over his breathing allowing his body rest. “He requires surgery on his chest wall, his limb joints and fractures. His head injury and blast wound...”

 

“Will he live?”

 

She gave a single minute bow of her head. “They are very hopeful. Other than his obvious injuries he is a healthy specimen. His blood sugars and electrolytes are low indicating that he has had little sustenance in the last few days, but his body mass and muscle tone are both good suggesting that he has previously been well nourished. There are no signs of disease, although he is currently fighting an infection from his blast wound.

 

 “Once they have his condition stable they will immerse him in bacta. His recovery may take some time.

 

Boba thought this over. He’d taken a risk bringing the boy here, but he needed the best medical facilities and Kamino provided that. He still had his father’s apartment here, he still had a private landing pad and the Imperial forces tolerated him; after all he was a brother to many clones even if he did not see himself as such.

 

However, he had no idea who he was hiding this boy from, or why. He may have just brought him straight into the gundark’s nest.

 

“How long before he can leave?”

 

Taun We turned to him. “I cannot answer that yet, Boba.”

 

He turned away, dropped onto the nearest couch, feeling his exhaustion for the first time, but knowing he had to remain awake and aware and watch Vader’s cargo.

 

“Boba?”

 

He glanced up at Taun We, at the female he had known since childhood, knowing what she was about to say, knowing what had been done to the boy offended her gentle nature.

 

“His injuries, Boba. The boy has been tortured.”

 

“My client isn’t known for his kindness,” he told her.

 

“The methods used suggest he has been questioned by Imp...”

 

“I know,” he quickly interrupted before she could press him further.

 

Taun We looked down on him. “Boba, if this boy is a rebel you may have endangered all who have helped him.”

 

“He’s not,” he stood, crossed to the window again, looking in as the unconscious youth was prepared for surgery. “At least, I don’t think he is. Believe me, my client doesn’t harbour any Rebel sympathies.”

 

There was no doubt the boy was an enigma. Beaten and tortured by the Empire and then handed into his custody to be healed, cared for, protected. It didn’t make much sense.

 

_“You would be wise not to underestimate him.”_

 

Once more it crossed his mind that the boy was one of Vader’s agents; an undercover operative punished for failure and sent back into the field. The Dark Lord’s agents operated outside of convention, outside of organised military or intelligence networks. This boy was young, but age did not mean he was inexperienced or untrained; it could also be a useful tool to put an enemy off guard and draw them in with innocence. The boy would then be free to strike down his unwary target.

 

It could be that the boy had been planted within the rebellion, but had failed to take out his objective only to be caught by the Empire and mistaken as a rebel; questioned and tortured before his master could intervene. It was the only explanation that made any real sense.

 

_Luke Vader._

 

He scoffed again at the meandering thoughts, at the ridiculous notion that had struck him onboard Slave 1 when the battered youth had mumbled in his unconsciousness.

 

“Just as long as he lives, Taun We,” he told the Kaminoan at his back. “That’s all that matters.”

 

ooOOoo

 

The Emperor Palpatine stood by the window of his office staring out through the rain that lashed Imperial Centre. His eyes were resting on the far off ruins of the Jedi Temple as they often did as he replayed the memories and savoured the death of the order almost two decades before. He had briefly considered razing the temple to the grounds and building anew on top of its foundations, but he had discovered that the pleasure he had felt that day as the Jedi were slaughter did not wane with time but, instead, it lingered as had the impression of that day within the Force itself.

 

Again and again the Jedi died, their deaths shadowing the Force until all that was left was dusk and darkness.

 

He grinned, yellowed teeth reflecting in the window; all was as it should be.

 

A tone from his desk interrupted his reflection and he turned, robes lightly rustling on the floor as he crossed to the terminal.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Majesty, we have the report from the Devastator,” the tinny voice of his aide told him.

 

“Send it through,” he ordered and sat down to lift the datapad as the report downloaded. He scrolled through it quickly, sifting through the day to day troop reports, the logistics of running a battle cruiser and the log reports. He carefully read the entries of the pursuit of the Princess Organa’s vessel from Toprawa, of the capture of both the ship and the Princess and the order for the Devastator to rendezvous with the Death Star.

 

He scrolled forward looking for the most recent entries that concerned Lord Vader.

 

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he read about the summons from Vader and the subsequent arrival of his apprentice and his prisoner. The confirmation that the Death Star had been lost and the malfunction in the hanger bay that resulted in the deaths of a pilot and a medic. There was yet another convenient malfunction of the surveillance equipment in the brig where the prisoner had been held. Then there was the rendezvous at Felucia with a Firespray patrol ship flown by an unnamed bounty hunter to whom Vader gave his prisoner.

 

He pursed his lips in irritation; he had missed something. He took his time, slowly working back through the information, looking for anything, no matter how small, that might give him an indication of what Vader was hiding; what he had been deflecting attention away from.

 

There was no doubt in Palpatine’s mind that it was something about the prisoner; the slave that was being sent back to his master. But sent back to where?

 

He stopped, noted that the Devastator had captured the Princess Leia’s ship above Tatooine and that a detachment of stormtroopers had been dispatched to locate an escape pod that had been jettisoned from the rebel vessel and was believed to be carrying the stolen battle station plans.

 

Tatooine.

 

Still Hutt controlled and rife with slavery.

 

Anakin Skywalker’s home planet.

 

A place where Anakin Skywalker had vowed he would never return too after the death of his mother.

 

And yet, Vader had been drawn there in the chase for the stolen Death Star plans.

 

Palpatine closed his eyes, drew the Force towards him and opened his mind to the folds of darkness; searching through flickering scenes of the past for guidance, for a path to follow...

 

_“Anakin, my boy! It is good to see you home safe.”_

_Anakin briefly bowed his head in deference. “Thank you, Chancellor. However, if Master Yoda hadn’t showed up neither Obi-Wan, nor I, would have survived.”_

_“Then I must thank Master Yoda for his timely arrival and... ”_

_The Jedi padawan dropped onto one of the couches, his head in his hands. Palpatine frowned with concern and sat opposite him. “Anakin, what’s troubling you?”_

_Anakin shook his head. “I...many Jedi died and I...”_

_Palpatine waited, knowing there was something more; sensing that his young friend’s anguish came from another source._

_“I... my mother’s dead. I knew she was in trouble, I told Obi-Wan, I... he... said it was just dreams, but it... she was taken by the Tuskans,” he heaved in a breath, rushed on before his emotions could overwhelm him. “We... I mean... I went to Tatooine. Mom was gone, married and they said..._

_“They?” Palpatine asked, somehow sensing this information may be important even if he did not understanding why._

_Anakin swallowed, glanced at him with tired, grief stricken eyes. “Lars,” he said, hoarsely. “Mom had married a man called Lars. They... have a farm and she... I have a step-brother, step-father. But they couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save her, so I..._

_He looked at his hands, tightened them into fists._

_Palpatine hid his smile, forced concern into his voice. “What did you do, Anakin?”_

 The Emperor opened his eyes, shut off the datapad and set it down. He activated the holoprojector and his aide bowed low. “How may I be....”

 

Palpatine didn’t allow him to finish his sentence. “Contact the garrison on Tatooine. I want to know if a Firespray patrol vessel has recently docked and the name of the bounty hunter who flies it. I would also like a full report on the search for the stolen Death Star plans,” He paused, added. “I particularly want to know if there is any mention of the name ‘Lars.’”

 

“As you wish, Your Excellency.”


	12. Part 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Luke heals Vader searches the abandoned Rebel base on Yavin IV. Meanwhile, Palpatine enjoys a meal and a glass of blood red wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am only playing in Lucasfilm/Disney's sandbox. The only profit I get from writing fanfic is the fun I have.

** Part 12 **

 

 

His first awareness was how warm he was, the tepid temperature comfortable against his skin, soothing. Next, muffled and muted sounds filtered into his consciousness: a steady rhythmic beat, an accompanying, and slightly annoying, beeping and then voices. He couldn’t hear the words, couldn’t make out the tone or pitch, but he understood that the murmurs were from people nearby. He tried to move, muscles dragging against a strange sensation of heaviness, of viscous slowness hampering him.

 

He needed to wake up; he needed to open his eyes. He tried to swallow, failed and choked against something in his throat, something that was lodged in his mouth, and sat uncomfortably in his airway.

 

_“Time to talk, little Rebel....”_

 

Anxiety roiled in his gut as memories of pain and terror flickered in his mind, bringing him to full consciousness.  He gagged, flailed against the intrusion in his throat and the warm pressure on his body. He opened his eyes, saw a dull light, saw strange shapes shifting in the dampened glow, heard the voices talking quicker, the beeping rising in pitch.

 

Water! He was under water!

 

Panic surged through him. He tried to bring his arms up, wanting to pull the thing from his throat, wanting to get away, to get out. Pain thrilled through his joints, his limbs. He tried to cry out; couldn’t utter a sound. He retched and fought, thrashing against the weight of the liquid against his body.

 

_“Be calm, Luke,”_ a familiar voice soothed.

 

 There was a sudden burning in his arm, a freezing flow through his veins, and he tumbled backward into darkness.

 

ooOOoo

 

“He’s fighting against the sedation,” Taun We explained to Boba. “Although this is the first time that he’s fully come to....” She trailed off for moment before continuing, thoughtfully. “It has been a long time since I saw such a reaction.”

 

“What do you mean?” Fett asked, turning away as the sensors on the bacta tank in the other room all ran green once more. He dropped back onto the waiting room’s couch and pinched the top of his nose, willing away his fatigue, the ache of sleep deprivation. He’d had little rest since picking up the cargo, had only just managed to snatch a few minutes of slumber before the alarms from next door had dragged him from his dreams.

 

Taun We cocked her head, her large black eyes blinking slowly. “During the Clone Wars, it proved difficult to treat some Jedi as the midichlorians in their bodies naturally fought against the anesthetic. They had to be treated by their own healers.”

 

A twist of disgust passed through Fett and he glanced once more to the viewing window. The boy’s body jerked spasmodically within the bacta before settling quietly into the healing solution. “You think he’s Jedi?”

 

It would confirm one of his thoughts if the boy was Force sensitive. It would also make sense for Vader to have an operative who was trained to use his powers. It would make his agent that much more devious, more cunning and calculated - more dangerous. Vader’s warning not to underestimate the youth continued to echo in his mind.

 

The Kaminoan recognised the distaste in his voice, knew of his hatred of the Jedi since the death of his father on Geonosis so many years before.

 

“That isn’t what I said, Boba,” she quietly chided as she crossed the room to the door. “I saw this reaction in beings with a high midichlorian count, but that does not mean that this boy is Jedi.”

 

But it didn’t mean he wasn’t.

 

Fett watched her leave, then lifted his helmet from the floor, cradled it in his hands, stared at its battered facade. He turned his eyes back to the viewing window and the youth submerged in the bacta tank, an arena, red sand, the smell of smoke, ozone and burned flesh still fresh in his memories.

 

ooOOoo

 

The wrecked computer console sailed across the room and crashed into the wall of the abandoned Rebel Command Centre; it was joined by a sensor screen and the cracked and broken body of a stormtrooper.

 

“Tear this place apart!” Vader stormed, his impatience splintered by the troopers’ failure to find anything of note in the Alliance’s hastily deleted database; it had been wiped clean, burned out with only the tiniest fragments of files remaining.

 

He turned on the nearest officer, pointing a finger in the man’s face that was now as grey as his uniform. “Do not fail me, Captain.”

 

This was taking too long. They had been here too long, the search of the base moving from hours to days while the Rebel Alliance’s trail grew colder than a Tatooine night. He could not fail this task, could not tempt fate by not fulfilling his master’s command to find the Rebels.

 

He had to succeed, he had to find something to offer Palpatine, to appease him so that he would turn his master’s attention elsewhere and free Vader to return to his son.

 

_My son!_

 

Again a thrill ran through him; an old emotion that he could not place...

 

_...it is joy, Anakin..._

 

... and it pushed him, goaded him to complete this task on Yavin IV . He wanted to be with his child, his flesh, his blood.

 

_“Anakin, this baby will change our lives.”_

 

He paused at the echo of her voice, still able to see the concern in her eyes as she tried to comfort him after his nightmare of her death. The traffic of Coruscant never still, never silent, passing by in the background: the pilots and passengers ignorant of the coming future, the approaching storm that would change the galaxy forever.

 

How he had envied them, how he had longed to be one of them, and not have the burdens of Anakin Skywalker weighing on his shoulders.

 

_Anakin Skywalker._

 

He had not thought of his name for almost two decades, had rarely considered his previous life until the Force had brought his son into his life. In recognising Luke as his child, he had been compelled into remembering more: Padme, Obi-Wan, the Jedi, his mother....

 

_His mother._

 

What would she think of him now? What would she feel if she could see what her Anakin had become?

 

_“I’m so proud of you....”_

 

Her last breath, her final words, were of how she had missed him, of how handsome he had become, and of her pride in her adult son.

 

He looked around the room at the destruction, at the body of the stormtrooper he had just killed in a fit of rage. The soldier’s helmet had fallen away; his face was loose, wide eyes staring at nothing. The young man had not been a clone.

 

_“I know I’m better than this.”_

 

Vader took a step back, reeling at the sudden surge of feelings that threatened to swamp him. It was an emotion that he had pushed away and refused to acknowledge even though it was the basis of his rage and anger.

 

Guilt.

 

_Sand beneath his knees, his fist closing over the grains that lay on his mother’s grave._

_“But, I promise. I won’t fail again.”_

 

He had made a promise and had been unable to keep it. He had continued to fail. Again and again he had known the bitterness of failure.

 

He had failed at Mustafar.

 

He had failed Padme.

 

He had failed his child.

 

It was time to keep his promise to his mother.

 

He would retrieve his son and keep him close. He would train the boy, make him strong and together they would achieve what he had always wanted to give Padme.

 

A Galaxy at Peace.

 

_And what would you do with that peace, Anakin?_

 

“My Lord!”

 

He turned, ignoring his inner voice. “You have found something?”

 

“Yes, sir, a fragment of data mentioning the farming communities on Nadiem in the Teth system.”

 

Farming.

 

A smile creased his lips. It was a prudent assumption that the Rebels were negotiating with the Nadiem locals for supplies. It was a tenuous link, but it was a lead that he could easily follow, that would, through the right methods, guide him to the location of the Rebel forces.

 

More importantly it gave him something to send to Imperial Centre to placate Palpatine and it would allow him to rally the fleet, to lose himself further in the outer rim far from his master’s insidious reach.

 

Anticipation thrilled through him; it might also afford him the opportunity to contact Fett and have his son discreetly returned to him.

 

“Captain,” he addressed the waiting officer, “leave a garrison to continue the search. Contact the fleet and transmit the co-ordinates for the Teth system. We leave as soon as I board the Devastator."

 

The captain bowed as Vader turned away. “As you wish, my Lord.”

 

ooOOoo

 

He relaxed into the chair and lifted the glass of blood red wine from the ornate dining table. He sipped, relishing the warm, bitter bite of the alcohol. He swallowed and smiled at his companion as the man placed a forkful of rare, bloody, meat into his mouth and chose that moment to ask his question.

 

“Tell me, Admiral, what do you think of the Tarkin Doctrine?”

 

Ozzel quickly chewed and nervously patted his mouth with his napkin before answering. “I think the late Governor had many relevant models of...”

 

“That isn’t what I asked, Admiral,” Palpatine chided before placing meat from his own plate into his mouth. He chewed slowly, watching Ozzel carefully weighing up the man’s strengths and weaknesses. He had a potentially demanding and difficult command awaiting this man.

 

Ozzel placed his cutlery down and took a sip of wine. “The doctrine of using fear and force to keep the population in line has merit, Your Majesty. When trapped, an animal can only react in two ways: it either submits or it attacks in desperation, and in that state it is normally easy to overcome and subdue.”

 

“But first the animal has to be cornered,” Palpatine observed.

 

“Yes, Sire, but a skilled hunter is ready for any event.”

 

“And yet the Rebels attacked and succeeded despite the might and power Tarkin had at his disposal.” Palpatine took another sip of wine watching Ozzel closely.

 

Ozzel was quiet for moment considering his response. “The doctrine isn’t flawed, but the man wielding it was. He could not conceive failure.”

 

“And do you, Ozzel?” the Emperor wanted to know. “Can you conceive failure?”

 

The Admiral swallowed, knowing his answer would either promote him or doom him. “I think one has to consider the possibility of failure. How else do we avoid it, if we have not planned for it?”

 

Palpatine was silent, yellowed eyes carefully watching the Admiral, seeing the bead of sweat on the man’s brow. Ozzel was a loyal soldier and a fervent supporter of his Emperor, one who never questioned orders or paused to carry out his duty for the Empire.

 

“I have a command for you, Ozzel,” he said quietly. “I have commissioned a new Star Destroyer, one larger and more powerful than anything built before. It will be Lord Vader’s flag ship.”

 

Ozzel stifled a smile, trying to keep his excitement contained. This was the chance he had worked for, hoped for.  “The Executor, your Majesty. I have been keeping abreast of her progress. I understand she is to be launched within weeks.”

 

The door to dining room slid open and one of the Emperor’s aids strode quickly in, bowed and handed Palpatine a datapad. Ozzel waited as the Emperor took it and dismissed the aide with a wave of his hand. Placing the datapad on the table Palpatine turned his eyes to the waiting officer as the aide left the room.

 

“She is yours to command, Admiral,” he announced after the door closed, returning to the conversation. Then he paused and added. “Under Lord Vader, of course.”

 

Ozzel bowed his head in assent, understanding his place. He was to take orders from Vader, but the Emperor was his master. “Of course, Sire.”

 

“That ship represents me, Admiral. That ship, and the fleet, is my presence in the Galaxy. You will ensure that no animal attacks me again.”

 

“You have my word, Your Majesty.”

 

Palpatine lifted his fork, took another bite. “I do not need words, Ozzel. I need action against these insurgents.”

 

“I ensure you, Sire, I will not...” he paused, he was going to say ‘fail you,’ but it would have been the wrong thing to utter now after his earlier statement. He could feel his Emperor’s eyes on him as he spoke. “... disappoint you.”

 

“See that you don’t,” the Emperor warned as he rose from the table and lifted the datapad from the smooth, polished surface.

 

Ozzel hurried to his feet and bowed low as his Emperor left the room; his mind already planning his new command and dreaming of the possibilities of his future.

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke was thirsty, his throat parched and sore. He licked dry lips and peeled open his eyes, slowly blinking as he tried to focus in the dull blue light, and turned his head on the soft pillow at the sensation of movement at his side.

 

A straw was placed between his lips and the shadow by his bed spoke with soft tones. “Sip slowly.”

 

He did so, savouring the cool liquid as it soothed his throat. The straw was removed and a hand placed upon his forehead.

 

“Sleep, young one.”

 

He closed his heavy eyelids, not fighting his exhaustion and tumbled back into slumber...

 

_... he pulled the young woman after him. They ran together, boot steps slapping on the smooth floor as they barely outpaced the chasing soldiers. He let go of her hand as they turned a corner lifting the blaster and pulling off a few shots at their pursuers. They raced up an incline toward an open doorway._

 

_The woman...._

 

_....Princess. The princess...._

 

_... suddenly stopped. He didn’t; his heels were on the edge of the abyss as his arms flailed wildly to stop his momentum._

 

_He pitched forward, felt her fingers brush against his arm as she tried to grab him..._

 

_“Luke!”_

 

_... and he fell, plunging into darkness._

 

He started awake, his heart hammering, his breath caught in his throat. Eyes wide, staring into the dull light at the bland ceiling above his bed as an urgent, irritating bleeping sounded from beside him.

 

A door opened, the light in the room grew brighter, and a tall bipedal being flowed into the room, it bowed its long neck to look down at him with the blackest eyes he had ever seen.

 

“I fell,” he whispered in fear.

 

“But you have safely landed,” the creature told him.

 

He smiled at the gentle reassurance, eyes closing as exhaustion stole over him once more.


	13. Part 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Palptine turns on a datapad and Luke trades his first few words with Boba Fett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copyright for the Star Wars Universe belongs to Disney/Lucasfilm. I am only skipping around in their backyard having some fun.

Part 13 

 

Palpatine placed the datapad on his desk and drew his hand away, tucking it into the sleeve of his robe. He considered the insignificant piece of equipment that lay silent and deactivated waiting for him to pick it up again, waiting for him to turn it on and scroll through the information it contained – the report from Tatooine.

 

It seemed to shimmer, almost as though it had its own presence; its own signature in the Force.

 

It had no life, no form or sentience, and yet it teased and taunted his perceptions and had sent a shiver of possibilities running through him when he had taken it from his aide - a knowledge that after he had read its contents things would change, a revelation that the Galaxy would once more be molded by his design.

 

The moment he keyed it on would signify a new beginning. It would be, he mused, much like the moment he had laid a hand on the young Anakin Skywalker’s shoulder and vowed to keep an eye on his career.

 

He closed his eyes, recalling the moment he had stepped off the transport on Naboo to be greeted by a young Obi-Wan Kenobi and the boy. He had just become chancellor and had returned to his home world to congratulate a victorious Amidala and to assist in the rebuilding of the damage the Trade Federation’s invasion had wrought on the population.

 

If only the Queen had known that the blockade and the invasion had been planned and manipulated by him, if only she had known that the man she greeted had orchestrated the entire performance to ensure that he gained the position of chancellor.

 

However, he had not expected her to win, and the woman would continue to be a thorn in his side throughout the following Clone Wars.

 

And yet, she had been the catalyst that had given him the opportunity to influence and corrupt the most powerful Force user the galaxy had ever known.

 

_“I will watch your career with most interest.”_

 

He had been aware of the boy tagging along with Amidala and the Jedi on Coruscant but had paid him little heed. Oh, he had a presence in the Force, a radiant light that had shone brightly and yet, even then, it had been tempered with sadness, with fear and an anger that trembled just beneath the surface. But Skywalker was just boy and he had more pressing matters to attend to as he suggested, with false reluctant tones, a vote of no confidence in Valorum.

 

It was not until he was on his way to Naboo and reading the reports of the battle that Skywalker’s innate and natural powers piqued his interest.

 

And when he laid his hand briefly upon that young shoulder the power that he sensed thrilled him, called to him, tempted him – with this boy he could rule a galaxy.

 

It was strange that a simple datapad could provoke such feelings, could make him recall so strongly a single moment in history.

 

Palpatine licked his lips and reached out once more to pick up the datapad; it felt light in his hands, it felt like nothing at all, but in that moment it was everything.

 

He turned it on.

 

ooOOoo

 

The elevator door swept open and Vader strode onto the command bridge of the Devastator. The heads of the crew bowed closer to their work stations as he passed, each of them trying to appear insignificant and invisible to his attention. Beyond the viewing port, space was distorted and torn into the twisting lights of hyperspace. Ignoring it, he continued to Wermis who was deep in conversation with his First Officer.

 

The Captain tore himself away and addressed Vader. “My Lord, we have set course for the Teth system and we should arrive at Nadiem in seventeen hours. The fleet has responded and....”

 

“I am aware of this, Captain,” Vader cut him short. “On our arrival you will contact the Nadiem council and advise them that their planet is now under Imperial control and that any resistance will be met with swift retribution. The Teth system now belongs to the Empire and the fleet will likewise subjugate the remaining planets.”

 

“My Lord,” Wermis began, shooting a nervous glance at his waiting first officer. “The Emperor has not sanctioned....”

 

Vader raised his hand, pointing in Wermis’ face. “ _I_ am the word of the Emperor in the Galaxy and I enforce _His_ will. This will be the last time you question my authority.”

 

Wermis’ throat caught, tightened and he nodded quickly, forcing out: “Of course, My Lord.”

 

“You will take the Devastator into the atmosph....” He stopped, his attention sliced away from the Captain by a tremor, a warning in the Force. It was sudden, it was intense and he feared it might involve his son.

 

He turned from Wermis, ignoring the man’s intrigue and surprise, as he searched for the source of the feeling, the sudden warning.

 

But already the feeling was trailing away, the sudden peak in the Force waning, leaving him with an aftertaste of uncertainty.

 

He turned to Wermis and hurriedly continued while warning himself to remain calm; he would know with certainty if anything had happened to his son. “You will take the Devastator into the atmosphere; deploy TIE fighters and ground troopers. Tolerate no resistance and arrest the Council members. Bring them to the brig and have them interrogated on their rebel contacts.”

 

“Yes, My Lord.” Wermis’ confusion about his superior’s behaviour was clear in his tones, but wisely he did not voice it.

 

“Have a secure channel opened in my quarters,” Vader ordered before turning and striding toward the turbolifts.

 

“At once, My Lord,” Wermis told his retreating back. He shot a glance at his bemused First Officer. “Do what he wants,” he ordered, sourly.

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke’s eyes snapped open: something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Something was telling him to get up, to move, to get out of the way and hide.

 

A spike of adrenalin surged through him and he automatically sat up, throwing the coverlet aside as a soft alarm sounded by his bedside. He slid from the bed, his head immediately spinning, and a heavy ache in his joints and unexpected weakness sent him to the floor with a groan.

 

He lay, trying to catch his breath; he needed to move, he needed to....

 

_“Relax, Luke. You need to relax.”_

 

He turned at the sound of a familiar voice, looking for the speaker but saw no-one in the room with him. He frowned and wiped a hand over his face, trying to clear the mist from his mind, trying to remember where he was and what had happened and why he had the sudden desperate urge to run.

 

_“You are safe for now, Luke.”_

 

He started as the door swept open and the tall creature with the black eyes flowed into the room followed by a human male whose armour was instantly recognisable to those raised on Tatooine.

 

He tried to pull further back as fragments of memories flickered: a bright, blinding light, tight bonds around his wrists and ankles, a black mask and questions. Questions about things he didn’t know and pain.

 

Such pain and a noise: a droid.

 

He remembered screaming... and....

 

...Boba Fett.

 

Bare feet scrabbled on the floor, trying to find purchase as he grabbed at the bed to draw himself up, trying to stand, to get away.

 

_“You are safe, Luke!”_

 

Again Ben’s voice as the tall being and Fett hurried toward him.

 

“Ben?”

 

It was Ben, it was... but Ben was dead. Ben was.... his aunt and uncle... his aunt and uncle were dead and... droids, something about droids and a girl, and a man and....

 

“Ben?”

 

_“Remember what Vader told you!”_

 

“Ben?”

 

He searched the room for the Jedi as Fett and the being reached him, but saw nothing. How could he hear him? He was dead!

 

Hands slipped under his arms and pulled him upright. He wanted to fight, to struggle, but he had no strength, no will....

 

_“You are safe.”_

 

Luke’s head was buzzing, white static hissing in his ears as he was lifted from the floor and placed back onto the bed. Fett took his legs and straightened them on the pallet, and the cover was replaced by the tall being. He found that all he could do with what little strength he had was to believe the echo of Ben’s voice in his head, despite his inner alarm, despite the nagging instinct to flee.

 

“You should not be out of bed, young one.”

 

Luke glanced up at the gentle tones, at the gracious creature that tended to him. “I... I don’t know where I am.”

 

He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how he had got to this place. He only knew that where he had been had been cold, black and heartless, that he had been tormented and tortured by....

 

_“Remember my words, boy. Do not fail me.”_

 

He remembered the tall bulk of Darth Vader standing over him. He remembered the warning in his voice and...

 

_“Lie still. No further harm will come to you.”_

 

... he frowned, unsure of the fragments of images and sounds that flashed through his mind. Vader had ordered his torture and yet Vader had also helped him. He remembered the bonds being released, remembered being struck and warned and...

 

_“You are my....agent....”_

 

Luke rubbed at his eyes, trying to sort out the jumble in his head, trying to fit the pieces together, trying to push away the feelings of panic, the trailing feeling that he needed to flee.

 

“You’re on Kamino.” Fett’s voice pulled him from his tangled and convoluted memories.

 

 He glanced at the bounty hunter and Luke had to wonder how many people had seen the bounty hunter without his mask on and had lived to describe him. He wasn’t how Luke had imagined during all of those games with Biggs; he was older than Luke had imagined, with dark eyes and greying black hair, thin scars marked his skin. His face was impassive, stone. His voice was likewise.

 

“I am Taun We,” the Kaminoan told him with a bow of her crested head as she checked the bed sensors above his head, and it was only then that he realised that he was in a medical facility. The room was white, bland and quite bare bar a row of empty beds and silent scanners awaiting additional patients.

 

“I’m...” he started automatically.

 

_“Luke, No!”_

 

“I... I’m pleased to meet you,” he finished in response to the inner warning, again shooting a look to Fett who was watching him closely and who, Luke was sure, had noticed his slip. “I... thank you for helping me.”

 

Taun We bowed again. “You are very welcome, young one, but I must request that you rest.” There was a gentle tone of chastisement to her voice.  “You sustained some serious injuries and will have some residual weakness in your lung. Your joints and ligaments require physiotherapy to build their strength, and it may be sometime before you can move freely and without pain.”

 

Luke tried to listen, tried to take in what Taun We was saying but there were too many questions, too much that he didn’t understand, and still the feeling that he needed to get away and hide lingered. “I... can’t stay here, I have to go....”

 

Taun We glanced at Fett, who nodded to her. She recognised the hint; it was time for her to leave. “I will check on you again shortly and procure you something to eat.”

 

Fett waited until the door closed behind her. “You’re not going anywhere yet, kid. Not unless I have to move you, or deliver you.”

 

Kamino was as good a place to keep the cargo as any. True it was crawling with Imperials – it was, after all, one of the breeding grounds for the Empire’s soldiers – but his concerns and those of Taun We had not yet materialised.

 

It was like times of old. He was an errant brother returned home, welcomed by his creators and tolerated by his siblings, although many of the newer clones had come from different subjects and not all new troopers were copies of his father. It also appeared that there were very few of the older batches still stationed on their home world.

 

No-one had questioned his presence and few had asked about the boy. Those who had asked were satisfied that the youth was a job that needed to be delivered alive. It was, after all, the truth.

 

“Deliver me?” Luke noticed the dressings on his wrists, remembered throwing up his arm in self-defence, remembered nauseating pain as his wrist shattered under the baton blow, remembered tight binders.

 

“Back to Vader,” Fett told him.

 

Luke’s gut twisted, panic beat again in his chest and the sensors around his bed indicated a rise in his blood pressure and respiration rate. He licked dried lips, unable to respond to the bounty hunter’s words.

 

_“Remember what Vader told you, Luke. Remember your cover.”_

 

He did remember. The drugs keeping him awake as the Dark Lord spoke.

 

_“You are my....agent, an undercover operative. Your cover is that of an escaped slave. The Bounty Hunter will continue this ruse. He will travel with you to Tatooine as though to return you to your master. Then he will take you to a secure location where you will be safe until I can come for you. Do you understand?”_

 

He didn’t understand then. He didn’t understand now and the thought of retuning to Vader terrified him.

 

Is that why the need to run, to flee, nibbled so at his senses?

 

_“You are safe here, Luke. I will tell you when it is time leave.”_

 

Ben again. What was this? Was he going mad? Had the drugs the Imperials had filled him with done something to him? Had the beatings and torture fractured his reality?

 

Fighting distress, he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. He was hearing a dead man’s voice in his head!

 

There was a chuckle then: _“It is the Force, Luke. Trust me, you are safe. Now, listen....”_

 

Fett watched the boy, saw the fear and uncertainty and the flick of his eyes, the tilt of his head as though he was listening to something only he could hear. The bed sensors registered a further rise in blood pressure as the boy put his hand to his head; it was a gesture of someone under stress, of a battle to remain in control and not lose it all.

 

Then the youth smiled, closed his eyes, relaxed, and all of his body functions gradually returned to normal.

 

After several minutes the boy looked back at him, his face composed his eyes cool and calm. Then he laid his head back upon the pillow and closed his eyes. He was asleep before the bounty hunter moved.

 

And Fett was left with a feeling that the ground had just shifted, that he had somehow just lost a battle that he hadn’t realised he was fighting.

 

ooOOoo

 

Palpatine rose from his chair and carefully placed the datapad back upon the desk. He turned toward the window, again looking across the skyline to the ruins of the Jedi temple that sat shadowed against the dark of the night.

 

He clenched his fists, flickers of Force lightning trailing across his knuckles as he fought to maintain control of his fury.

 

Vader had tried to deceive him. The pupil was turning against his teacher; his apprentice had discovered something that should not exist.

 

_Skywalker!_

 

Just a name, mentioned only twice in the body of the report. A name given as a suspect in the search for the rebel droids.

 

... _The droids were not found at the farm as indicated by the Jawa chieftain. Both Owen Lars and his wife, Beru, agreed that they had purchased droids but indicated they were put to work on vaporators on their land. Both denied that there was anyone living with them despite evidence to the contrary._

 

_Lord Vader ordered their execution on grounds of hiding and harbouring the droids and the sentence was carried out immediately._

 

_Locals in Anchorhead indicated that Owen and Beru Lars had a teenage nephew living with them. Luke Skywalker is described as...._

 

_....disturbance at the Chalmun’s Cantina. The parties involved were reported to be an elderly man in the company of a youth who matched the description of suspect, Luke Skywalker, who is believed to be in possession of the rebel droids. It was also reported that the weapon used on the injured party was a lightsaber. Our informant followed both suspects to docking bay ninety-four where, after a brief fire fight, the fugitives made good their escape in a class YT-1300 freighter that we had identified as the...._

 

The Force crackled and hummed as the Emperor’s fists closed tighter.

 

_Skywalker!_

 

A Skywalker in the company of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

 

Even now those two names together caused him grief: caused him to re-evaluate his actions and designs.

 

Kenobi had always been a threat to his manipulation of Anakin. The Jedi’s friendship and bond with Skywalker had been one of the most satisfying things to snap, to feel the pain and anger of betrayal, to feel the break within his apprentice when he realised Kenobi’s duplicity was a victory to cherish.

 

And the Jedi had almost destroyed it all, had maimed and wounded the beauty of the creature he was creating, had left but a shell of a man for Palpatine to rebuild.

 

He had no doubt that was who the elder man in the report was.

 

Kenobi…

 

He dragged in a breath, allowed the cool of the air calm the heat of his anger. He needed a clear head to pull the pieces of the puzzle together and losing himself to raw anger would not serve his purposes yet.

 

He had known that Padme Amidala had not died immediately following Vader’s assault. He had known she had been buried with a belly swollen with child, and he had had his own spies confirm that the child had perished with her.

 

It now seemed that his agents had been deceived and the child had survived to be spirited away and hidden in plain sight with the forgotten family on Tatooine.

 

A son!

 

He lifted the report, sifting through its contents once more while recalling Vader’s own report of the events on board the Death Star. He placed them together, read between the lines of both for the unwritten and unspoken truth.

 

It would seem that the boy came into possession of the droids and sought out Kenobi. After the deaths of his guardians, they bought passage off Tatooine and headed for Alderaan, no doubt trying to return the droids to the Viceroy.

 

The freighter was captured by the Death Star and the group had rescued the Princess Organa and tried to make their escape. Vader and Kenobi had fought a battle that the Jedi lost.

 

The boy was caught, interrogated by his own father and his identity revealed.

 

In an attempt to keep his son hidden Vader had constructed a simple ruse and had ensured that all recordings had been removed or erased before employing a bounty hunter to continue the hoax.

 

He scrolled through the remainder of the document reading the details of the investigation into the owner of the Firespray that picked up the boy from the Devastator.

 

It would seem that Boba Fett returned a slave to a star ship parts dealer in Mos Espa. Soon after he left, the building was reduced to rubble by an explosion and resulting conflagration, the occupants reduced to bone and ashes. There were enough remains to identify a Gran, presumed to be the owner, and a human, presumed to be the slave.

 

Fett had left alone with a lifter load of supplies. He departed Tatooine for an unknown destination.

 

Such a simple plan, easily executed: such a pity Vader chose to pretend the boy was a slave. His apprentice had forgotten one thing.

 

Anakin Skywalker would never have returned a slave to its master.

 

Lord Vader would suffer for his deception, would pay a painful price for his lies and deflection. He knew Vader would harbour plans for the youth: his own apprentice perhaps. A thing of innocence and light distorted and twisted for a single purpose – to overthrow an Emperor.

 

He closed his eyes, welcomed the chill of the darkness, allowed it seep through his being as he sifted through tendrils of night looking for events not yet come about, experiences not yet lived....

 

_A flicker of light.... a flame in the deepest shadow... a boy. A boy with golden hair and intense blue eyes...._

 

_...Anakin...._

 

_...No..._

 

_...Luke...._

 

_.... approached from the shade to stand before him._

 

_From behind him the father appeared and placed a hand upon the youth’s shoulder._

 

_“Kneel to your master,” Vader commanded._

 

_The boy swallowed, eyes flickering with uncertainty, but he bent his knees to the floor and bowed his head in supplication._

 

_There was a strength there, a power begging corruption._

 

_He stepped forward, reached out his own hand and placed it upon the boy’s head._

 

_It was then the darkness was pieced by the spit and hum of a lightsaber blade, the red light slashing toward him as the father attacked._

 

Palpatine opened his eyes, his mouth turning down with rage. It was as he thought; Vader was continuing the Sith tradition and was planning his murder.

 

He should be proud of his apprentice, he should be pleased that Vader was following the ages old traditions, but he was not yet ready to give up his throne. He was not yet ready to relinquish his power, not now.

 

Not ever.

 

He deactivated the datapad and crushed it in his palm with the Force, allowing the pieces to rain through his fingers like water as he considered all he knew, all he had seen and felt from the vision.

 

The boy carried the same easy grace of power as his father and Palpatine wondered how much more of his father the child had inherited.

 

The rage and hatred?

 

 

The passion for conquest?

 

 

He would not allow this vision to come to pass, could now allow Vader to bring the boy to him. He must find the youth before Vader retrieved him and mould him to his means, to his designs and shape.

 

 

Then the son could be unleashed upon the father, to beat down and destroy the one who gave him life. Then he would have a younger, more powerful apprentice with whom he could crush the irritating rebellion and expand his power and influence in the outer rim of the galaxy and beyond.

 

 

Palpatine activated his desk comm. “Alert all commands. I want to know the current whereabouts of Boba Fett. I will be particularly interested if he arrived with company.”

 

 

“As you wish, Majesty,” the voice of his aide answered, “and if we locate him?”

 

 

“Alert me at once. Do not allow him to leave. Arrest him, and his companion, if necessary.”

 

 

“It shall be done, sire.”

 

 

“Oh...” as though this was an afterthought, “and leave Lord Vader’s command out of the communication. He has his own mission and is not to be interrupted.”

 

 

He disconnected the comm. and stood in silence and darkness as tendrils of blue light flickered about his fingers.

 

 

_Skywalker...._

 


	14. Part 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader contacts Fett who ponders his cargo. Luke has a conversation and the commander of Kamino receives a message from Imperial Centre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars, it characters and situations, belong to Disney/Lucasfilm and my only profit from writing fanfic it the fun I have.

** Part 14 **

 

 

With his cargo out of danger and asleep once more, Fett lay back on the bed nearest the door. He plumped up the pillow behind his head and settled to catch a few hours of rest himself. Linking his hands across his chest plate, he closed his eyes and gratefully sank his head into softness.

 

His comlink chirped.

 

“Shit.”

 

He dragged himself from the bed, activated his wrist comm and watched as a tiny hologram of Vader materialised. He felt an unexpected surge of relief that the Dark Lord was contacting him so soon, hopeful that this baby sitting gig wasn’t going to be as long as he had anticipated.

 

“Lord Vader,” he greeted, “I....”

 

“The cargo is secure?” Vader demanded immediately.

 

Fett threw a glance over his shoulder, making sure the subject of their conversation was still asleep.

 

“It’s secure,” Fett assured him.

 

The hologram broke up, reset itself. “...some time before I can retrieve the goods.”

 

Fett swore under his breath, his previous relief crumbling and falling away.

 

“Remember my words, bounty hunter, be on your guard.”

 

The transmission abruptly ended with a burst of static and Fett deactivated the comm again looking across the room at the sleeping youth.

 

“Shit,” he breathed again wondering what Vader had meant by that last. Should he be on his guard against the boy, or for the boy?

 

His hand automatically went to his gun belt, resting on the butt of his blaster. He crossed to the darkened window as the rain began to fall and a strobe of lightening flashed across Tipoca city. The city no longer had the grace and beauty it had during his childhood. It looked worn, used and abused by the power that now over saw clone production.

 

Many of the Kaminoan’s looked the same, tired and fatigued as they worked to meet the Empire’s exacting standards.

 

Another flash, this one followed by the low rumble of thunder, and the rain lashed harder. A rustle of cloth and low moan drew his attention back to the room and to his work. The boy had moved in his sleep, his face grimacing briefly, eyes moving rapidly beneath the closed lids.

 

He looked so young in slumber… a child.

 

But Fett wasn’t fooled. If Darth Vader warned you not to underestimate someone you listened, and youth did not always mean innocence. He was a living example of that: taught by his father, by witnessing his father’s death, by his experiences with Aurra Sing and his attempts to assassinate his father’s killer, by the time he spent in prison on Coruscant.

 

He had been but a child, but no innocent, and he had been younger than this boy.

 

This youth was an unknown quantity with experiences and skills that he could only suspect and guess. He may be one of Vader’s agents, cruel and twisted as he carried out his master’s bidding. He may be force sensitive and have skills and powers that Fett would be hard pressed to control.

 

He was an enigma, a riddle he had been warned not to solve.

 

He remembered being in the hold of Slave 1, remembered the injured boy’s quiet whispers and mumbles, and still wasn’t sure what he had said. Had it been a warning...

 

_“Look..... Vader.”_

 

_..._ or had it been a name.

 

_“Luke.... Vader.”_

_“I warned you against asking questions, Fett, and I have tolerated several. Ask no more.”_

 

He had no idea who the boy was and what, or who, he was hiding him from, no idea who his enemies may be, and all of this made him uneasy, unsettled.

 

He smiled; that was exactly the state that Vader wanted him in, for that way he would always be on his guard and alert.

 

The whine of TIE fighters passing by the window tore his gaze from the sleeping patient, and he glanced out once more at the view beyond the transparisteel, watching as the fighters banked up and away heading into the deepening clouds.

 

He smiled, without humour. This could turn into the longest, and hardest, job of his career to date and potentially the most boring.

 

ooOOoo

 

Vader cut the brief transmission, satisfied that all was well with Fett and his son and that the spike of feelings in the Force, although unsettling, was not immediately threatening to Luke.

 

His son was safe...

 

...and yet tension was coiled in the Force like a serpent gathering strength to strike its unwary prey. It had been many years since the Force had been so - the darkness sang with expectation, resonating with keen anticipation for decisions to be made and for destinies to be decided.

 

A vortex of paths lay before him, each one with consequences, each one filled with unknown events but he could sense death and destruction down every one.

 

_“You must choose!”_

 

Vader turned away from the holographic transmitter, turned away from the memories of a choice that had taken him down the path he now walked, and closed his eyes as he tentatively reached out and gathered the folds of the Force to him.

 

He took an inward step, tried to cross the threshold of the nearest path and was firmly rebuffed. He took in a regulated breath and turned to the next trail and was again denied access. He could see the pathways before him, could see their meandering distances as each one faded off into the vastness of the Force.  He could feel the emotions of the possible futures they contained, could feel the hopes and the fears, the love and the hate, the successes and frustrations and anger, such raging anger that burned darkly from many of the roads ahead.

 

But he could not see into them, was unable to reveal the possibilities they contained, was blind and ignorant of the events that caused such feelings.

 

_“That is because they are not your paths, Anakin. They are not your choices to make.”_

 

He opened his eyes and for a moment he thought he could see the shadow of Obi-Wan standing before him. He blinked, wiped the fleeting image from his sight.

 

“If they are not my choices,” he said aloud to the empty room. “Then whose are they?”

 

There was a brief pause, a momentary hesitation. It had been a habit of Obi-Wan’s, when he was required to impart some unsettling news, or when he was forced to choose his words carefully, he would stop, allowing a heart beat before speaking again.

 

_“They are Luke’s.”_

 

 

ooOOoo

 

Alone, Luke lay on his side, unable to sleep. The bounty hunter had left a few moments before, believing him to still be asleep - although making sure to lock the door behind him - and Luke relished the possibility of some privacy, some time to himself even if it was only for a few moments. It had been so long since he had had such a luxury. Since leaving home it seemed that he always had someone with him, someone telling him what to do, what to say, someone taking all of the control and leaving him helpless and at the mercy of others.

 

_“Time to talk, little rebel.”_

 

The room was in dusk, the ceiling lights dulled to a muted glow that barely reached the white walls. It was quiet save for the muted beeping of his bed monitors as they remotely monitored his vital signs, which Luke now thought was pointless and annoying now that he was feeling reasonably well.

 

He turned slowly onto his back, winced at the ache from his shoulder joints, from his hips and chest wall, and amended his previous thought: he felt well when he didn’t move.

 

He stared at the ceiling, picking and rubbing at the itching of the dressings on his wrists, trying to think of nothing, trying not to think of what had happened since the droids had turned up on the farm, since he persuaded his uncle that purchasing help would be a good idea.

 

He closed his eyes against the sudden surge of grief that tightened his chest, clogged his throat and brought tears to his eyes.

 

They were dead.

 

His aunt and uncle were both dead and it was his fault. He was the one who pushed Owen to get help on the farm in the selfish hope that he would be released to go to the Academy and get off Tatooine. He was the one who pointed out the Artoo unit after the protocol droid suggested it. He was the one that took off the Artoo’s restraining bolt and went after it.

 

Had the droids been there, had _he_ been there, they could have simply handed the droids over to the searching Imperial soldiers. They could have proven to the troopers that they were innocent and Owen and Beru would still be alive.

 

Ben would still be alive and he wouldn’t have been....

 

_“Time to talk, little rebel.”_

 

He turned back onto his side, body shuddering with the pain of the movement, with the overwhelming memories and conflicting emotions and he bit back a cry, a shout of angry denial against everything that had happened. He curled on the bed, clutching at his body and gritting his teeth.

 

He closed his eyes and wept for his guardians, for Ben and for himself.

 

He could remember the cell, the droid, the man, the questions, the pain, the smell of charring flesh.

 

He had been tortured.

 

Beaten and stripped.

 

Stretched and scorched, pumped full of drugs.

 

Plundered for answers he did not know.

 

Until...

 

Vader.

 

The man who had killed his father had heard his name and....

 

The quiet sobbing abruptly stopped as a sudden notion struck him. He hitched in a breath as he pushed himself up to sit, ignoring the pain that lanced from his limbs and healing ribs, and wiped furiously at his face, ridding himself of his tears, shedding his grief.

 

Vader had ordered him killed.

 

Twice.

 

Even now he remembered those wrenched moments of terror. Then he had said his name, his father’s name and everything had changed.

 

He was still hurt, shown no mercy...

 

... _gloved hands holding him upright as he vomited, one on his brow, one on his stomach. Then leaning him back, cradling him as blackness took him...._

 

Luke frowned at the fragment of memory.

 

Vader had him treated, then had the dressings torn from him and filled with stimulant to keep him awake.

 

_“You are my.... agent.”_

 

He had hit him, he had him handed to the Bounty Hunter, he had warned him not to fail him, had given him a cover story and he had...

 

Saved him.

 

Vader hadn’t just helped him, he had _saved_ him.

 

“Why?” He voiced his wonder, his confusion, aloud as a sudden flash of light lit up the room. There was a rumble from outside and he glanced toward the window as water droplets began to fall from the darkened sky. They bounced from the transparisteel, ran in rivulets as lightning danced among the clouds.

 

Luke swallowed, unsure of the storm, could hear the increase of pitch and speed of the monitors as they registered his unease. Part of him want to walk to the window and watch the rain, to see something that was unknown on Tatooine, to see amounts of water that he could previously only dream about.

 

The other part of him wanted to lie down and pull the coverlet over his head and hide from the squall, the growing tempest, and from the path that his thoughts had been leading him down.

 

_“You cannot hide, Luke.”_

 

He turned at the sound of Obi-Wan’s voice and found himself looking at the man’s shimmering image sitting on the next bed, calmly watching him with a hint of mild amusement in his eyes.

 

“Oh, man,” he moaned hoarsely, pressing his hands to his dampened eyes as more lighting flashed outside. “Now I’m seeing you.”

 

Obi-Wan chuckled and reminded him. “ _You have already seen me, Luke.”_

 

On Boba Fett’s ship, when he was dehydrated. “I thought I was hallucinating....” He threw his hands up, winced again at the movement. “Maybe I’m still hallucinating.”

 

_“It is the Force,”_ Ben told him as thunder rumbled distantly.

 

“I still don’t know what that is, Ben. I don’t know what that means.” His hand touched the healing scar at his hair line where his head had connected with the deck of the Death Star hangar bay. Perhaps he was still concussed.

 

Ben smiled at the gesture, understanding Luke’s thoughts _. “It means everything, Luke. You felt it on the ship when you practised with the lightsaber. It has given you the strength to get through your ordeal, it is the feeling that you had earlier when you felt the need to flee.”_

 

“You said I was safe.” There was a tone of accusation in his voice, a twist of anxiety that he was still in danger here.

 

_“You are,”_ Obi-Wan reassured him, while all too aware of another’s growing interest in the youth _. “Although it is important that you use this time to heal for you will need your strength.”_

 

 “What do you mean?”

 

_“You will have to free yourself of Boba Fett and leave this place.”_

 

Luke understood where this was going. “Before Vader comes back?”

 

Obi-Wan hesitated. _“Yes. Or contacts Fett to deliver you to him.”_

 

Luke shook his head. Who was Ben kidding? He was being held by Boba Fett, his every move was watched, the door to this room was locked, he could barely move without any pain, and he was supposed to get free of Fett and escape?

 

_“I will help you, Luke. Remember what I said earlier, Vader’s warning to Fett has made him uneasy around you. He suspects what you are, you can use that against him.”_

 

What I am? 

 

What am I?

 

“I can’t do this, Ben,” he stated, disbelieving and doubtful. “I don’t know how.”

 

_“You will, Luke,”_ Obi-wan stressed firmly, leaning forward _. “You are so strong with the Force. It will help you, guide you. It is why Vader has taken you. He sees your potential, he wants it for himself.”_

“You told me to listen to him, to trust him,” Luke accused, voice biting with exasperation, fearful and confused by the conflicting messages, confused by the very fact that he was sitting talking to a dead man.

 

_“Yes, because I knew he would act to save you once he knew who you were.”_

There was a tone to the Jedi’s voice, a tone of sadness and a longing for things past that Luke didn’t understand.

 

He was quiet, playing with the dressings on his wrists, remembering the cell, the torture and how it had ended.

 

_...“You said he gave a name....”_

 

“Who am I, Ben?” he whispered, needing an answer, needing an explanation of why this had all happened.

He had thought he knew who he was; he was an orphan, the nephew of Owen and Beru Lars, a farmboy. He was Wormie, he was a dreamer, the son of a freighter navigator.

 

Then he was more.

 

The son of a Jedi Knight.

 

_“...little rebel.”_

 

_“Scum.”_

 

His name, his father’s name, had changed everything.

 

_“You are my... agent.”_

 

There had been hesitation in Vader’s words, as though he was going to say something else.

 

The Jedi was silent and he looked away when Luke caught his eye.

 

“Ben,” he pressed, “... who am I?”

 

Obi-Wan glanced back, his eyes filled with sorrow as he took in the sight of Anakin’s child so lost and alone.

 

 “ _You are your father’s son,”_ he offered as the door to the room sliced open.

 

ooOOoo

 

“What does tha.....” Luke started to say as Ben disappeared and Fett strode into the room

 

“Who were you talking to?” the bounty hunter demanded as he glanced around the ward, bringing up the blaster rifle he had cradled in his arm.

 

“No one,” Luke told him, eyeing the blaster sourly. He lay back down, trying to make sense of his brief but unfinished conversation with Ben and ignoring Fett.

 

“I heard you talking to someone,” Boba accused. He quickly crossed the room, grabbed Luke’s bed cover and pulled it away. “Where’s the comlink?”

 

“Hey!” Luke protested throwing his hands up and glancing down to his lower body, relieved to see that he was wearing sleep pants and wasn’t entirely naked.

 

Ignoring the boy’s complaints, the bounty hunter roughly frisked him, checked beneath the pillows and the cover before dropping them back onto the bed beside him, satisfied that there was no hidden communications device.

 

Fett back away and sat on the opposite bed where moments before the image of Obi-Wan had sat. He watched as the youth tried to sort his bedding while anger and humiliation burned on his cheeks.

 

“So,” he started with smile, knowing he had just reasserted his control on his cargo and reminded the boy of his circumstances. “Do you speak to yourself often?”

 

Another sour look from the boy.

 

He grinned, thumbed the safety back on the rifle and set it down beside him. “Who’s Ben?”

 

That hit a nerve, the boy’s head turned sharply toward him, pupils large in the blue irises. Then a quick glance away as lightning lanced the sky once more. The rain lashed heavier and the silent youth turned toward the window with a mixed expression of wonder and fear on his face.

 

“So,” Fett continued, easily, “you don’t want to talk about Ben.” He nodded toward the growing storm outside. “You’ll not have seen many storms like that on Tatooine.”

 

Another reaction, a subtle tightening of the jaw and a swallow. If this kid was one of Vader’s agents, he wasn’t that well trained, unless this was all still an act and he was maintaining his cover. If that was the case, then the kid was good.

 

“Your accent is pure Rim,” he explained with a smile. “Tatooine dialect, probably somewhere south of Mos Eisley.”

 

Luke tried to ignore him, tried not to allow any reaction that would prove to Fett how close to the truth he was, but he knew that the man was a seasoned hunter experienced in picking up the smallest clue in pursuit of his of prey.

 

Hadn’t he and Biggs played at being Fett often enough? Hadn’t they sat at the door of the Anchorhead Cantina and listened eagerly to the tales and the legends that surrounded him from the patrons? The stories getting wilder as the beings got drunker.

 

And now here he was, alone with the man himself.

 

“Are the stories true?” he found himself asking, turning back to regard his... his what? His captor, jailer, minder?

 

Fett laughed. “Which ones have you heard?”

 

“What about the capture of the Nassini crime lord?”

 

“Gorega Bhith?” Boba nodded. “True.”

 

“The assassination of Hallolar Voors?”

 

A shrug. “Also true.”

 

Luke pondered his next question, thinking of his own situation. “Has anyone escaped you?”

 

Fett’s smile disappeared and his eyes grew cold, losing all of his amusement. “Just one.”

 

“Who was it?” This was a story he hadn’t heard and it gave him a little hope – Boba Fett could be bested.

 

Fett regarded the youth, understanding immediately why the question had been asked, but he wasn’t about to give the kid any ideas. “He was no one important,” he told the boy, the image of the Jedi Knight, Mace Windu, clear in his mind as the lightsaber stroke severed his father’s head from his body. “He died anyway; I just wish I had been there to see it.”

 

And Luke knew by the tone of his voice that this particular conversation topic was over. He rested his head back onto the pillow and stared lifelessly at the ceiling once more.

 

“So, you know a little about me,” Fett began again watching the boy closely once more. “What about you?”

 

Luke couldn’t suppress his smile as he glanced across at the curious bounty hunter. “Vader told you not to ask questions,” he reminded him.

 

“Vader isn’t here, and I like to live dangerously.”

 

Luke sighed, closed his eyes, feeling fatigue descend again. He was sore, frustrated and afraid. His whole life, his whole idea of self, of who he was, had ground away leaving him bereft and bare.

 

“It’s classified,” he said listlessly, repeating what Ben had whispered to him in the hold of Fett’s ship.

 

“I need to call you something,” Fett reasoned. “We may be together for a while.”

 

“Classified.”

 

Another chuckle. “That’s not much of a name,” Fett conceded as he lay back on the vacant bed, “but I guess it’ll do for now.”

 

ooOOoo

 

“Cloning tanks on levels nine and fifteen are nearing maturity with a ninety percent success rate, that will give us two thousand more units to send to the education and training facility. However, sixty tanks on level twenty one have failed and the units perished. We have shut down and are repairing the affected section; other tanks on that level are functioning normally and....”

 

Commander Paccar stood with his back to his subordinate, hands clasped behind his back, as he was given the daily update on the progress of the cloning facility. He only vaguely listened; one report seemed to leak into another. It was always the same on Kamino: the cloning tanks grew the clones, there were malfunctions that had to be repaired, losses to be reported. The ships that orbited the system, the fighters that flew patrols, always reported the same – no activity, no anomalies, nothing unusual to report.

 

He watched the lashing rain with the same boredom, watching the roiling oceans with dispassionate detachment.

 

The only mildly interesting piece of information that had been given to him in the last few days was that Boba Fett had returned to Kamino with a piece of freight needing medical attention. It had been a while since Fett had made use of his private apartments that he had inherited, or so Paccar had been told, from his father. The Commander had been stationed here for five long years and had yet to meet the man.

 

Before allowing Fett to use the vacant landing platform attached to the accommodation, Paccar had verified that there were no outstanding warrants for Fett, had double checked with the Kaminoans that the bounty hunter still had rights of residency and that he was willing to pay for the use of medical facilities out of his own pocket.

 

Fett had landed and unloaded his cargo, and the starkly regular routine of life on Kamino had continued unabated.

 

The commander stifled a yawn as the man behind him continued.

 

“.... twenty-four battalions will be ready to be shipped by the end of the week with a further sixteen ready by the end of the month.”

 

There was a minute or more of silence before Paccar realised that the report had finished. He turned around. “Is that all,” he enquired of the lieutenant.

 

The younger man checked the datapad in his hands. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Thank you,” Paccar acknowledged. “I shall look forward to your report tomorrow morning. Dismissed.” He didn’t care if the officer heard the sarcasm in his voice, no longer caring about hiding his contempt for this posting.

 

Commanding Kamino had seemed an ideal opportunity, a chance to show High Command his abilities to command. However, he had found that he was little more than farmer, watching his crops grow and shipping them off around the Galaxy to fulfil economic demand.

 

He watched the lieutenant leave the command centre and glanced around the stations as his personnel worked at monitoring the scanners and sensors, gathered information on the weather, on shipping passing through the system and taking orders and demands from sectors across the Empire for troopers and pilots.

 

Turning, he headed for the door of his office for another few hours of pushing flimsy and avoiding comms from irate generals who hadn’t received their shipments yet.

 

“Sir!”

 

He stopped, grimaced as the Lieutenant came hurrying back, wondering if he had been so painfully eager as his age.

 

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

 

“An urgent communication from Imperial Centre,” he was eagerly told as a datapad was pushed into his hands.

 

“For us?” He frowned, a smidgeon of excitement piercing his belly as he glanced at the screen and saw the “eyes only” order on the screen.

 

“For you, sir.”

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said again and quickly palmed the door controls for his office. Once inside he threw himself into the chair behind his desk, quickly tapped his authorisation code into the datapad, and slouched back to read.

 

He sat up almost immediately and punched his comm. “Get me all the data that you can on Boba Fett and his cargo. Be discreet, nothing must raise suspicion with Fett or the Kaminoans. Lock down all non essential travel, no-one gets off planet without my authorisation.”

 

He killed the connection before he got a reply. Once he had all the information he could raise he would contact Imperial Centre – if he played this correctly he might find that the Kamino posting had been good for his career after all.

 

ooOOoo


	15. Part 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fett tries to get to know his "job" a little bit better and Palpatine announces a Royal tour of the Galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always Star Wars, the characters and situations, belong exclusively to Lucasfilm and Disney. I just borrow them for a little fun...

****

** Part 15 **

 

Fett flicked the safety off and placed the newly cleaned and reassembled blaster onto the bed beside him and lifted his second weapon. His hands automatically followed years of routine and began taking the rifle apart.

 

A groan of pain brought his head up and away from his work, and he glanced across the room to where the boy was working with the medical droid as it directed him through the prescribed physiotherapy treatment. The youth was breathing heavily and lightly sweating, gritting his teeth against the stiffness and the pain as he shuffled across the room while holding onto the droid who was calmly offering encouragement and praise for his efforts.

 

Fett turned back to his task, hiding a smile at the Huttese curse that his young charge uttered as he collapsed back onto his bunk. He disengaged the power cell from the blaster, removed the gas cylinder and slid the scope from the tip of the barrel, listening as the droid updated the youth on his condition.

 

“You are healing well, young master,” the droid intoned. “The blaster wound and burns have fully healed, and any residual scaring will fade with time. Your fractures have knitted, and scans of the new bone indicate that the fracture sites should have no residual weakness.”

 

Fett glanced over again, caught the grimace of pain that furrowed the boy’s brow as the droid spoke, and the Bounty Hunter knew that the youth was recalling how he had gotten the injuries, that images and feelings had flickered unwanted and unbidden through his mind. Lifting a cloth, Boba began to clean the barrel of his blaster rifle while continuing to watch and listen as the droid finished.

 

“The torn ligaments and tendons have responded well to treatment, and I predict that you will gain over ninety-eight percent of your original mobility, though you may find that you will experience some stiffness and pain for several weeks. I recommend that you continue with your exercises as this will enhance the healing process.”

 

Exhausted, the boy gingerly drew himself back on the bed, leaned against a pile of pillows and closed his eyes, muttering a “thank you” to the droid.

 

Fett waited until the droid had left the room, waited until the boy had begun to relax.

 

“You were racked.”

 

He got the desired result. The youth started, stiffened, turned in horror to look at the bounty hunter, blue eyes dark with memories. Then he turned away to stare at the clouds in the sky beyond the window and the TIE fighters that swarmed among them.

 

It wasn’t hard to guess what had been done to the youth: stretched limbs, torn ligaments and tendons, joints wrenched apart indicated only one torture method. It was one he had used himself on reluctant informants.

 

“You must really have pissed Vader off,” Fett continued, watching from the corner of his eye as he cleaned his blaster.

 

The boy was silent, unmoving.

 

Fett chuckled. “I’ve hit a nerve, huh?”

 

Still no answer, no response.

 

“Come on, Classified,” he encouraged, lifting the scope of his blaster and sliding it back into place. “This could be a long gig for us both, and there is only so much silence and holonet watching a man can take. You must be getting as bored as I am.” He slapped the blaster gas cylinder back into place. “We need to talk about something to pass the hours.”

 

A TIE patrol passed by outside the window and caught the boy’s eyes, and for a moment Fett thought he saw something crossing his face: a wistful flicker of longing, a yearning. Could his charge be a pilot, or could he just be jealous of the TIE pilots are they soared free among the clouds while he was stuck in a medical room with an unwanted babysitter.

 

Then the youth surprised him by turning in his direction and asking, “Could you show me how to do that?” He indicated the blaster rifle with a nod of his head.

 

Again Fett chuckled, shaking his head. “I thought you’d know how to clean a blaster.”

 

“I do,” the boy told him. “But that looks like a modified EE three. You’ve added a scope and a stock. Show me how to do that.”

 

The bounty hunter gave some consideration to the request. An Imperial agent, Vader’s agent, would know weapons, would know to how modify and improve any blaster that he carried to make it more accurate, more deadly.

 

Again he was struck by the enigma of the youth; was he bluffing in an attempt to get Fett to lower his guard, or was he genuine in his interest purely because he really didn’t know how to do the modifications? Was this a question of an innocent, or the deflection of a calculating and manipulative undercover operative?

 

He fixed the power cell back into its fixings and clicked off the safety and smiled at the boy. “You first,” he challenged.

 

Uncertainty flashed over the pale features; again there was the unusual tilt of the head as though the youth was listening to something only he could hear. Then he nodded slightly and glanced at Fett as he spoke.

 

“I broke into a restricted area, found something I shouldn’t have and let it out. I...” he faltered there, his hand trailing to his shoulder to the healed blaster wound, as though his conflicting personas clashed for a moment. But Vader’s man won the battle; the boy’s expression hardened and the hand dropped away. “I failed to escape.”

 

“So what pissed him off more? Not getting away or finding something you shouldn’t have?”

 

The boy shrugged, winced. “Both.”

 

“So why not just kill you?”

 

Again a pause, a flick of his eyes to the side, and Fett had to resist looking in the same direction.

 

“I got into somewhere I shouldn’t have been able too. That impressed him,” the youth simply said, although Fett had a feeling there was more to it than that.

 

“So, do you have a name I could use, or do I keep calling you Classified?”

 

Again the youth smiled. It seemed genuine, unaffected, and it made him look even younger; childlike.

 

“Your turn,” he was told.

 

Fett knew he would get no more just now and hefted the blaster and removed the power cell and gas cylinder before tossing it to the boy. There was no way he was going hand a loaded gun to the kid.

 

ooOOoo

 

Commander Paccar placed his datapad on his desk and threw himself into his office chair and unfastened the top closure of his jacket, loosening his collar. He placed his feet upon the desk, crossed his ankles and slouched down, relaxing into the seat.

 

Or rather, tried to relax.

 

His stomach churned with anxiety and excitement as he waited for the response from Imperial Centre. Standing again, he fastened up the neck of his uniform and paced his office floor while keeping an eye on the holotransmitter. He rubbed his newly shaved skin, ran his hand through his cropped hair and was tempted to breathe on his hand to test the odour of his breath before reminding himself that smells could not be transmitted via hologram.

 

He was agitated, nervous. The next few moments could either make him, break him, or kill him.

 

He had taken a risk by waiting a few days to respond to the request from command on the location of Boba Fett and the boy with him. He’d had his men splice into the medical centre’s data base and gather what information they could on the injured youth; he had patrols discretely increased, and all contact droids had with Fett and the boy was recorded and reported to him.

 

He had been disappointed; there wasn’t much to tell. Fett remained close by the boy at all times, they rarely spoke to each other – at least while they had company – and they had yet to leave the medical centre.

 

The boy’s injuries were interesting though and it was clear that he had been tortured.

 

That piqued Paccar’s curiosity. The boy’s blood results contained the remnants of strong stimulants and truth serums used only by authorised Imperial Interrogators. His limbs were torn and disjointed, he had been beaten and an existing blast wound has been deepened and torn: classic signs of intensive interrogation.

 

What could that youth possibly know that would warrant such a severe session and, not for the first time, the thought crossed through his mind that the youth could be a rebel spy whom Fett had somehow rescued from detention .

 

Did he have a rebel operative trying to hide among his command?

 

It angered him, outraged him, but it also worried him. Could Fett and the boy be here for reasons other than recuperation? Were they, somehow, filtering information on the operations on Kamino back to the Rebel Alliance?

 

Had his command been compromised?

 

He had no answers to his questions. Had ordered reviews of his security systems and had found no evidence that it had been breached, had found nothing to indicate that information had been sent off world.

 

Except for one transmission that Fett had received, a brief, scrambled channel that they had been unable trace.

 

He had thought about taking both into custody, but the command from Imperial Centre was for information with an order of arrest only if Fett and his companion tried to leave.

 

Neither Fett nor the boy had shown any inclination of leaving, or had done anything else that warranted arrest.

 

Still, Paccar fervently hoped he had made the right decisions.

 

A tone from his desk drew his attention and the holotransmitter set into the floor glowed. Paccar crossed to the circle and stood, hands clasped behind his back, within the lights ready to make his report to Command.

 

As the hologram from Imperial Centre coalesced before him his mouth dried, and his lower body lost all power to maintain his stance. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head, in shock and horror.

 

It was the Emperor himself!

 

“Report,” Palpatine rasped.

 

Paccar worked his jaw, forced saliva into his mouth, too terrified to look up into the darkness of the projected cowl. “M...majesty, I.. I... am honoured by...”

 

“Spare me your platitudes, commander,” Palpatine rasped, impatiently. “Tell me what you know of Fett.”

 

“He’s here, sire,” Paccar blurted, looking to the floor. “On Kamino, and he...”

 

“And his companion?” The Emperor cut in.

 

“A boy, your Majesty...”

 

“Tell me about him.”

 

Paccar swallowed. “There isn’t much information, sire,” he explained cautiously, trying to be so careful in his choice of words. “He arrived gravely injured. From his medical records he is noted to be between seventeen and twenty-one standard years of age, he suffered extensive injuries that are consistent with...”

 

“I am aware that he was in custody and was questioned,” Palpatine told him, his words clipped and short. “What else can you tell me?”

 

Paccar nervously licked his lips, his mouth parched with panic. “I... there is very little, Your Majesty, he and Fett do not leave the medical facility.”

 

There was a long silence, and Paccar had the uneasy feeling that the Emperor’s patience was fragile, that he was treading on feeble ground.

 

“How long have they been guests on Kamino?” Palpatine wanted to know.

 

The commander cleared his throat, fearing the Emperor’s reaction to the answer. “Over three weeks now, sire,” he admitted.

 

“Three weeks....” was the echo. “My order was issued over a week ago, Commander, and yet you have only just contacted Imperial Centre. Why is that?”

 

Paccar was finding it increasingly more difficult to process thoughts, to articulate words. “I... uh... I want to gain as much information as I could to... to... be able to fully update command.”

 

“And yet you are unable to tell me anything other than Fett’s location.” The words were hissed, spat. “You are unable to tell me anything about the youth in his possession apart from facts that I already know.”

 

Paccar was visibly shaking, incapable of controlling his fear. “Sire, forgive me, I...”

 

“Has Fett given any indication of an intention to leave Kamino?” The question was fired at him, fuelled by impatience and choler.

 

“No, Sire.”

 

“Has there been any communication between Fett and Lord Vader?”

 

Paccar was surprised by the question. “Lord Vader?” he echoed, confused for a second. “No, sire, not that we are aware of.”

 

“Explain,” Palpatine asked a little more softly, but with no less menace.

 

“Fett received a scrambled transmission some days ago, but it last only a few seconds. We were unable to trace its origins."

 

There was silence for a few seconds as Palpatine pondered this last statement. “And Fett made no movements?”

 

“No, Sire.”

 

“Has there been anything unusual about the boy?”

 

Paccar faltered again, confused by the statement, desperately searching his memory for any curious piece of information on the youth and wishing he hadn’t left his datapad on his desk. What defined unusual? It was certainly unusual for a subject of Imperial custody and questioning to escape, but other than that the boy was an ordinary and unremarkable human male.

 

There wasn’t anything that...

 

He started, looked up as something occurred him. It may not be important, it may not be what his Emperor was asking for, but it was the only thing that came to mind. “It... it may not be significant, your Majesty, but the boy’s medical records indicated that he was particularly resistant to anesthetics. They had to...”

 

“Does it say why?”

 

The Commander shook his head. “No, Sire, it was only a note of interest by the medical staff.”

 

ooOOoo

 

Palpatine turned away from the holotransmitter, away from the man snivelling on a floor several thousand light years away.

 

So, Fett and young Skywalker had a found a haven, a place of refuge and respite. Fett had returned home like many fugitives, drawn to familiar surroundings and kin – or as close to kin as a clone had.  The boy had received treatment, was recovering, and healing from the wounds inflicted on the orders of his own father...

 

And suddenly the truth was apparent to Palpatine. A feral grin pulled his thin lips apart and he laughed, delighted by the obvious.

 

Vader had not told the boy of his parentage.

 

Vader had brutally tortured the youth, wrung his identity from him, and had been shaken to the core by the disclosure, by the revelation that his child had survived and was lying before him battered and broken by his father’s hands.

 

How then could Vader admit his identity? How then could the father admit his crimes to his child?

 

It would have destroyed the boy.

 

It might still destroy him.

 

And it would be the leverage that he would need. It was the tool that would pry father and son apart and pit one against the other.

 

He closed his eyes, savouring the shadows as they thickened around him, as they wrapped him in their embrace, teasing him with flickering images of conquest and control.

 

The boy would be his, of this he had no doubt.

 

Palpatine turned back to the waiting officer.

 

“I have no wish to alert Fett to our knowledge of their whereabouts. Maintain your surveillance, commander, but do not interfere,” he intoned with a warning. “Notify me immediately if they attempt to leave Kamino and make an arrest.  I want the boy taken alive,” he stressed and added, “Fett, however, is expendable.”

 

The tiny hologram bowed lower. “As.... as you command, Sire.”

 

The Sith Master cut the connection and immediately made a second one. He did not have long to wait until the image of his apprentice appeared, kneeling, before him.

 

“What is thy bidding, my master,” Vader droned, the words said so often that they came automatically.

 

Palpatine smiled, he could feel the younger man’s impatience, his need to be elsewhere. “How is Teth?”

 

“The system has been subjugated with minimum casualties, Master. The Nadiem council denies doing business with the Rebel Alliance, however, I expect full disclosure imminently.”

 

“Yes, you do have a knack of uncovering the truth, my friend,” Palpatine praised, wondering... no, _knowing_ , that Vader would have heard the irony in his tones and would now be questioning the reason for it. He smiled, enjoying the burst of chagrin that rose in the Force.

 

“I will find the Rebels, master,” Vader assured him. “The Nadiem are...”

 

“Of no importance,” Palpatine announced, dismissing Vader’s current mission. “I have a more important task for you.”

 

“Master,” Vader began, the confusion and puzzlement clear in his tones. “I am close to tracing the Alliance contacts on Nadiem and through those I will have a route to the rebels themselves. If we...”

 

Palpatine ignored his apprentice’s explanations. “I am sure that Captain Wermis can oversee Nadiem and continue your work there until you are ready to return to the hunt for the Rebellion,” he placated, his voice light and unconcerned. “I have a gift for you.”

 

The Force suddenly darkened further, collapsed upon itself and deepened as Vader’s fears and anxieties burst from his control only to be snapped back and enfolded in a facade of calm blackness. To Palpatine’s delight, he realised that Vader had, for one brief second, thought the gift was his own son, had thought that his Emperor had discovered what he had tried to hide.

 

If only his apprentice really knew the truth.

 

The Emperor chuckled unable to contain his mirth. “You will travel to Fondor, my friend, and oversee the final stages of the outfitting of the Executor. She nears completion and _she_ is my gift to you to use in my name.”

 

There was a moment of silence as Vader absorbed what Palpatine had just said, his relief was almost palpable. “You have my gratitude, Master,” he carefully said, still trying to understand what move his master was playing. “She is a mighty vessel.”

 

But Palpatine wasn’t finished; now he was ready to spear the bait on the hook, cast it out into the galaxy, and watch the ripples undulate through the Force. “I have been remiss in my duties as Emperor,” he stated, sounding sorrowful. “I have remained on Imperial Centre too long, allowed this Rebellion to foster support and grow among the systems. They grow bold - the loss of the Death Star will become their rallying point if we do not act now.”

 

“What do you suggest, Master.”

 

He grinned. Vader was hooked. “It is time to remind the Galaxy of our might. I am rallying my fleet and I intend to... tour the Empire. To demonstrate to the populations what it means to defy my will, and to remind them of the benefits of compliance. Once the Executor is complete you will join me before resuming your hunt for the rebels.”

 

The Emperor paused, enjoying the moment even although Vader had no idea what was to come. “I will have my office transmit the itinerary to the Executor and highlight the systems we shall visit together.”

 

“I look forward to our time together, master.”

 

And Palpatine could hear the lies in Vader’s words. He squashed a burst of fury before it could spark within the Force. Vader would suffer for his deceit. “I have already decided our meeting point,” he announced carefully. “I have been concerned by the shortfalls in troops, the lack of honed and disciplined soldiers, and I tire of fielding off complaints from the Governors and Moffs that they need more men. I intend to visit the academies and training facilities as well as the clone production sites.”

 

He paused for moment, before issuing his final command.“You will join me at Kamino.”

 

ooOOoo


	16. Part 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is discharged from the medical unit on Kamino while vader and Palpatine's games begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Previous Disclaimers apply.

** Part 16 **

 

 

Vader remained on his knees as the holotransmitter deactivated and the lights around him faded away. Head bowed he contemplated his conversation with his master. Palpatine was in good humour, playful almost, and that worried Vader for this was when the Emperor was at his most vicious. This was when systems suffered and people died and somehow Vader had the unsettling feeling that this time he, and not the Rebellion or some other unfortunate, was at the root of Palpatine’s mirth.

 

There was no doubt his master remained furious about the loss of the Death Star. It was a humiliating defeat for the Empire, a crushing blow to the power and might that Palpatine used to keep the Empire’s systems in order and under his control.

 

This planned tour of the Galaxy would see many die, would strengthen Palpatine’s grip of terror around the ensnared systems. Vader was reminded of a young, petite woman standing in the control room of the Death Star facing up to Tarkin as he invited her to a ceremony that would mark the Death Star’s operational status.

 

_“The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.”_

 

There was a ring of truth to Leia Organa’s words: the more people were forced into something, the more they rebelled against it.

 

_“I don’t believe what I’m hearing...”_

 

An image of Padme abruptly came to mind: backing away from him, horror stricken at what he had just told her; at his attempts to explain why he had turned away from everything she believed in and held dear. His fists tightened. Her rebellion, her insurgence: against him, against their pledge and promise of a life together, still troubled him, still had the ability to rile his anger.

 

How dare she? How could she be so blind to what he was trying to do for her, for their child? Couldn’t she see that he was trying to make things better, was trying to save her?

 

It had been the only way.

 

_“There is always another way, my friend,”_ Kenobi’s voice broke the silence. His tones were low and sad, filled with regret.

 

Vader closed his eyes, wanting to deny the words, deny the feelings he sensed within them.

 

_“You were blinded by rage, by power and greed. You wanted it all...”_

“Leave me,” the Dark Lord growled to the empty room.

 

_“Anakin...”_

 

“I am not Anakin!” Vader shouted, a burst of rage driving him to his feet, the Force expanding outward pushing away Kenobi’s presence, banishing the Jedi’s whispered words to the lingering shadows.

 

_“And yet, you claim his son.”_

 

Vader stood in silence, motionless, allowing his respirator to draw in a breath of cooling air as he fought to control his anger. Losing himself to the events of the past, to Obi-Wan’s trailing taunt, would do him no good, would only serve to confuse and distract him. His hands uncurled as he relaxed, as he pushed aside his feelings and cleared his mind of the cluttering thoughts.

 

He had to think of his son. He could not allow thoughts of the boy’s mother’s treachery, of Kenobi, to sidetrack him from what he had to do.

 

He moved to the view port of his ship, stood before it as he stared blindly at the stars, at the ships that moved in orbit above Teth.

 

Why Kamino?

 

Why was he to rendezvous with Palpatine at Kamino? What was so important about the clone’s original breeding ground and...

 

Fett!

 

Horror and sudden panic rattled through the Dark Lord.

 

Fett!

 

It was Fett’s home world! He was from one of the first batches of clones, unaltered and allowed to grow naturally.

 

Jango’s payment for donating his DNA for the cloning process was a son.

 

Palpatine knew!

 

Somehow, he knew.

 

He placed a gloved palm against the transparisteel as though he could reach out and touch his child and keep him safe.

 

 “Luke...” His son’s name whispered from him carrying with it all of his horror and despair at Palpatine’s discovery.

 

His son, his son was on Kamino with Fett, it was the only explanation.

 

He had to fight the impulse to turn, to run, had to fight the urge to fly to Kamino and retrieve his child immediately, had to fight the urge to activate the subspace comm. and warn Fett to get out, to take his precious cargo and flee.

 

This was not the time for rash acts. It was not the time to recklessly plunge headlong into action no matter how much he wanted to, no matter the pounding of his heart, of the rush of his blood. If he acted true to character now, if he disregarded his orders, he knew he would surely doom Luke.

 

Palpatine was playing with him, was enjoying the game, taking delight in throwing the die and watching his game tokens move across the board at his command. The Emperor would have all his pieces in place now, would have all of this precisely planned. He would have the absolute advantage over any action that his apprentice could take.

 

Turning from the viewport Vader strode from his quarters, quickly making his way through the Star Destroyer to the hanger bay, knowing that Wermis would already have been appraised of Vader’s change of orders and that his shuttle would be waiting for him to take him to the Executor.

 

He would obey his master, he would play Palpatine’s game. He would allow himself to be moved into position like a dejarik piece. He would lull his master into complacency with his obedience and bide his time.

 

ooOOoo

 

Luke placed his palm against the cool transparisteel as though he could touch the rain that lashed against it and blurred his view of the city and the roiling oceans in which it stood. His heart was beating quickly within his chest and he had to keep reminding himself that the water could not touch him, that the window wasn’t about to fall out, that he wasn’t about to be drenched or wrenched into the crashing waves far below.

 

He was safe in here, dry, but the vastness of the water here astounded him, terrified him.

 

He smiled, his lips curling as he recalled the guilt he felt at taking his first shower here. How he had stiffly and tentatively stepped into the fresher cubicle only to yell in shock at the water hitting his body. Fett had been there immediately asking what was wrong and looking at him with an expression that Luke couldn’t quite decipher: part humour, part curiosity, part suspicion.

 

But the amount of water he had used in that shower was probably equal to what a vaporator on Tatooine yielded in a month.

 

It felt wrong and he had to wonder why, with so much water in the Galaxy, people on Tatooine still died of dehydration.

 

He trailed his middle finger down the window, tracing a water droplet as it ran down the smooth surface and mingled with others to run off the transparisteel in a stream. He lifted his hand back up, placed it back onto the window watching the rain in fascination as the holonet news murmured from the wall monitor and cast flickering shadows into the darkened room behind him.

 

**_“...his gracious majesty enjoys his tour of the galaxy. The systems he will visit are a carefully guarded secret given the recent rise in insurgency...”_ **

****

It was day time, but the heavy clouds and the storm muted the light from Kamino’s sun, cast shadows and darkness over the city, over him. It was oppressive, stifling and...

 

_“You are the son of the Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker.”_

 

He briefly closed his eyes at the unexpected and unwanted snatch of memory: Vader’s words spoken to him as he had lain naked and tied to a bench. Helpless and hurt as the Dark Lord tried to...

 

_“The bounty hunter must not know your true identity.”_

 

Another shredded image from weeks ago.

 

_“You are my... agent.”_

And he was back to that one spoken sentence, the hesitation in the Dark Lord’s words hinting of something else, something that the man was going to say before he stopped himself.

 

_“You are the son of the Jedi Knight, Anakin Skywalker.”_

 

It was all about who his father was.

 

It was about who he was.

 

It had all been so clear before. He was Luke Skywalker: a bored farm boy sitting in a homestead in a patch of sand on Tatooine. Living with his aunt and uncle because his parents were dead, killed before he could have any memory of them.

 

An orphan with dreams of being a pilot.

 

Now he was something different. Now he was the son of a Jedi Knight, a captive of a bounty hunter and pretending to be an agent of Darth Vader’s in a ruse to trick the bounty hunter from discovering....

 

_“You must not give your name!”_

 

Luke raised his hand to his cheek, his fingers brushing across skin battered by the Dark Lord’s hand. The bone had shattered under the blow: delivered after he had given Luke the warning.

 

It had healed now, but the warning behind it was remembered.

 

**_“... the security around the Emperor will be the tightest ever seen and he will be travelling with...”_** the news commentator announced behind him.

 

Luke leaned forward, placed his forehead on the window, feeling the cool surface and the drum of the rain against it. It seemed to be getting darker outside, the storm wilder. He winced as lightening flashed, the blinding light leaving a dark after image and he blinked his eyes as he tried to clear his vision.

 

_“Luke?”_

 

He turned, saw Ben standing behind him and turned away again. He was getting used to these visits, to the Jedi’s whispered prompts when Fett was in the room with him.

 

“It’s amazing,” he told Ben quietly, feeling rather than seeing the spirit of the dead man moving to stand beside him.

 

“ _The water?”_

 

“Everything... I...” he stalled, not having the words to express what he was feeling, watched the water slide silently down the window. “It’s all so strange...” he trailed off.

 

_“I can help you with that,”_ Ben told him moving closer. _“Your strength is returning, Luke. It’s time to prepare for what is coming.”_

 

Luke turned away from the window _. “_ What is coming, Ben?”

 

Smoothing his robes behind him, the old Jedi sat on the edge of Luke’s bed and Luke had to keep reminding himself that he wasn’t going mad, that this was real and he really was talking to a dead man – or at least he hoped he was. If he wasn’t and this was all in his head then he really was in trouble.

 

Kenobi was quiet and Luke limped toward him, “Ben?” he prompted.

 

Troubled, Obi-Wan look up at the young man standing before him. He shook his head. _“I don’t know, Luke,”_ he confessed. _“I only feel darkness approaching. I fear Vader is becoming impatient.”_

 

Luke closed his eyes against the images of the Dark Lord, conflicting memories of torture and salvation at the hands and orders of the same man.

 

“Ben,” he began then hesitated, afraid of how Kenobi might answer the question he was about to ask, but he needed to know... It was vital somehow. He lowered himself to the floor, wincing at the stiffness of healing limbs as he crossed his legs to sit at the Jedi’s feet.

 

“Ben... You said Vader betrayed and murdered my father...”

 

He could feel the sudden tension, could feel the reluctance of the Jedi to answer his statement.

 

_“Yes, I did,”_ Ben acknowledged quietly.

 

Looking down at his hands, Luke forced out his next question. “How did he kill my father?”

 

_“Luke, this is a question for another time, for when you have been trained and mastered your power, when you will not be tempted by the Dark Side and a desire for retribution.”_ The Jedi looked to the window and squalling storm. _“The Force is growing darker, you feel it, too. You must prepare for what’s ahead. I can help, explain what to do, how to...”_

 

“Please, Ben...”

 

There was a sigh of resignation. _“I wasn’t there,”_ Obi-Wan confessed, sadly. _“I only learned about it after it had happened, after he had... After Vader had turned.”_ He paused as though gathering his thoughts and continued. _“When it became known that Chancellor Palpatine was a Sith, a group of...”_

“What’s a Sith?”

 

_“One who uses the Dark Side of the Force,”_ Ben explained, carefully. _“They worship power and domination over others. They are evil, using the Force for their own selfish and corrupt purposes.”_

 

Luke nodded his understanding as a torrent of rain lashed against the window behind him; the Emperor was a Sith. The Emperor of the Galaxy was evil – it made sense.

 

_“A group of Jedi were sent to arrest the Chancellor,”_ Obi-Wan continued _. “There was a fight and the Jedi were killed after one of their number turned on them.”_

 

“Vader,” Luke growled, knowing Ben could mean no other, his voice was cold, hard. “My father was one of the Jedi?” he asked, still looking at the floor, trying to imagine the scene that Ben was painting for him: of a vicious fight between Jedi and Sith, between good and evil and evil prevailing.

 

Ben hesitated, then nodded. _“Witnesses saw Anakin arrive at the Chancellor’s office after the main group. Although the official story has Anakin dying defending the Jedi temple, we believe he faced the Sith alone and died in Palpatine’s office.”_

 

“How do you know he died?” Luke wanted to know, needing to know. If Obi-Wan hadn’t been there, if it had only been his father and the Sith in the room, how did he know his father had been killed.

 

_“I felt it,”_ Obi-Wan told him, his voice thick with grief. _“I felt him die. I denied it at first, fought against the knowledge but I saw what was left of my friend when they were done with him. Anakin was dead.”_

 

Luke nodded, absorbing the information, trying to make sense of what Obi-Wan was saying. “And Vader killed him?”

 

_“Vader and his Emperor,”_ Ben said, his voice bereft with loss and sorrow. _“The man who was your father died in that room.”_

 

Another flash of lightening and a gust of driving rain against the window drew Luke’s eyes to the Jedi’s.

 

It was time.

 

He could feel it. He knew it. He was standing on the cusp of something new, of something intangible, indefinable and unknown, something that he had briefly touched on the ship that had taken him from Tatooine. It had opened before him, had heightened his senses and moved his hands as he had wielded his father’s lightsaber against the training remote. It had opened a new world to him, a new perspective.

 

The Force....

 

Ben had said this was why Vader had saved him, because he had seen his potential, his power, and wanted it for himself.

 

He glanced to the holonet screen that had been playing to the room, ignored by them both until now.

 

**_“...the fleet will be vast. Although numbers are not confirmed it is rumoured that approximately thirty capital ships will accompany his Majesty and that the Lord Darth Vader will be joining the Emperor mid way through the eight week tour in his new, as yet unseen and unnamed, flagship.”_ **

 

The mention of Vader caught Luke’s attention and he turned to watch as stock footage of the Dark Lord played across the screen, as the camera took a close-up of the man’s mask.

 

Luke chilled as memories raced unbidden and unwanted, through his mind: of that mask being right before him, of that mechanical breathing filling the room around him, of being struck and beaten and tortured on that man’s orders. He pushed himself to his feet as a sudden, sickening, understanding rattled through him. He stared at the screen, at the footage of the massive fleet as it gathered above Imperial centre.

 

“That’s for me,” he stated with utter certainty.

 

_“Yes,”_ Obi-Wan confirmed watching him closely. _“You have a keen insight, Luke. It will serve you well in the coming months.”_

 

Luke wasn’t listening. Panic thrilled through him, a surge of adrenalin causing him to take a step backward as though the holonet was a dangerous enemy.

 

For him!

 

An entire fleet and the two most powerful beings in the Galaxy were coming for him! It didn’t make any sense...

 

...and yet it did. He was the son of Anakin Skywalker, a Jedi Knight.

 

_“You are as powerful as your father and you are a threat to them, Luke,”_ Ben warned. _“Vader saved you because he wanted your power for himself. The Emperor will not allow that to happen – you must escape before Palpatine arrives.”_

 

This struck a chord in Luke, casting another fragment of memory to the fore. He looked to Ben, as more understanding slipped into place. “Vader said something about the Emperor,” he told the Jedi, his mind still racing. “He said the bounty hunter would take me to a safe place where the Emperor wouldn’t find me. Ben...” he glanced at the holonet, at the pictures of the massing fleet. “Vader doesn’t want to Emperor to find me.”

 

_“They both covet your powers, Luke...”_

Luke wanted to deny this, wanted to deny that he had any power. He was just Luke... just Luke.

 

“... _They both see you as something to be used and exploited for their own individual gains, for that is the way of the Sith.”_

 

“They... they’ll fight over me?” Luke was incredulous, stunned – and a small part of him liked it, a small part dared imagine what it would be like to have the two most powerful men in the Galaxy warring over him.

 

_“Luke,”_ Obi-Wan’s sharp tone dragged his attention back to the Jedi. _“Do not be mistaken - they will both destroy you rather than let the other have you and they will both destroy you if you fail to meet their needs.”_

 

Ben’s words chilled him, brought clarity back to his situation and how precarious his position was. He was in the care of a killer, placed there by another killer and being sought by the man who ruled an Empire that had destroyed an entire planet.

 

He swallowed, nodded. “What do I do?”

 

Smiling the Jedi rose from the bed. _“We begin where we left off,”_ he advised, walking around Luke. _“Take up the stance I taught you on board the ship.”_

 

“But, I don’t have the lightsaber,” Luke disclosed with some confusion. “I left it on the ship when I changed into the stormtrooper armour.”

 

_“A Jedi does not always require his sword,”_ Obi-Wan explained, still smiling. _“Besides, you will retrieve your father’s lightsaber...”_

 

ooOOoo

 

With eyes closed Luke pivoted on the ball of his foot and brought his hands down, carrying the imaginary blade down through the mental image of a training remote. He straightened and, in his head, deactivated the lightsaber before opening his eyes to grin at Ben.

 

“I did it!”

 

The Jedi nodded at his success. _“Congratulations, young Luke. You have a strong affinity with the Force and you will find that walking the lightsaber practice through your mind will aid in wielding the real blade.”_

 

It had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done and he had been sceptical and a little scathing when Obi-Wan had introduced him to the concept of following the lightsaber drills in his mind while copying the movements with his body. He had felt self-conscious, unsure and very embarrassed to begin with.

 

However, as the time had gone on, as the minutes and hours had passed he had managed to touch the Force, had managed to draw it to him, had felt it envelope him, had felt it move his body, ease the pains of stiff joints and aching muscles. He had felt it flow, felt himself flow with it. It sounded absurd, it sounded like something that the kids back home would taunt and mock him for saying, but it was the only way he had of expressing the feelings he had experienced during the exercises.

 

Breathing heavily, he wiped at the sweat on his brow. “What’s next?” he asked eagerly.

 

Kenobi laughed at his enthusiasm. _“You are very like your father. Next I will teach you the patience that I was unable to teach him.”_

 

Luke shook his head, enjoying himself for the first time in weeks. “No, I wanna to know it all and...”

 

Ben disappeared, fading into the transparisteel.

 

The door lock cycled, the portal swept opened and Boba Fett stepped into the room with a bag. He stopped, eyeing Luke with some suspicion.

 

Luke grimaced, knowing what he looked like: his sleep pants clung to him, his chest was slick with sweat. He was out of breath, flushed with exertion.

 

“What were you doing?” Fett asked, giving the room a fleeting search with his eyes.

 

“My exercises,” Luke told him, somewhat truthfully. “The medical droid said I was too reg...”

 

The bounty hunter tossed the bag to him, cutting him off. “Get dressed,” he ordered, his eyes still narrowed with mistrust.

 

_“Don’t catch it!”_ Ben’s voice warned.

 

Luke fumbled, dropped the bag.

 

_“Hide your progress, Luke. Give no indication that you can use the Force.”_

 

He winced as he bent down and picked it up, not pretending as his limbs protested movement no longer enhanced by the Force. He limped to the bed and opened the bag pulling out a grey shirt, black pants and boots.

 

“I need a shower,” he stated, wondering why he was to dress, suddenly afraid of what getting dressed meant.

 

“You can wash later,” Fett told him, glancing at the holonet. Luke’s eyes flickered briefly to the screen, barely taking in the pictures and words of the commentator - it was a repeat of an earlier bulletin.

 

Sudden anxiety raced through him. He had become used to this medical room, had come to regard it as safe, as a refuge from the storms beyond the window. “Where are we going?”

 

Was this when he was delivered to Vader? Wouldn’t Ben have warned him?

 

Fett ignored his question. “You’ve been discharged.”

 

Luke tried again. “Where are we going?”

 

Fett shrugged and sat on the bed by the door. “Not far,” he told him as he turned his attention to the holonet screen.

Knowing he would get nothing more from the bounty hunter Luke peeled off the sleep pants and shirt that the Kaminoan’s had supplied him with and changed into the clothes. He slipped his feet into the knee high boots and stood already feeling uncomfortable and grimy at putting clean clothes on top of unwashed skin. His aunt would have been horrified.

 

“Right, come on, kid,” Fett stood and deactivated the screen. Silence fell across the room as Luke walked slowly toward the door.

 

The bounty hunter’s movements were so swift that Luke didn’t have any chance to react. Fett grabbed his right arm and swept him around, grabbing the left as he turned. Luke found himself with both hands bound tightly behind his back and being pushed roughly forward.

 

He staggered, protesting, “Hey!” and planted both feet on the smooth floor, tugging on the bands around his recently healed wrist. Feelings and images of his capture from weeks ago overwhelmed him as he struggled. “You don’t need these!”

 

Fett merely grabbed his elbow, pulled him forward and powered him toward the door.

 

“You’re a job,” Fett reminded him gruffly.

 

And Luke was left with no illusions. His situation was still precarious and no matter what, Fett was a business man doing his job: the bounty hunter would fulfil his deal and hand him over to Darth Vader.

 

ooOOoo

 

Despite his chagrin at being handcuffed Luke couldn’t help but marvel at Tipoca city as Fett steered him, limping, through the corridors. The white passageways bustled with activity; grey clad Imperial officers strolled by them, technicians had panels open and wires loose as they worked, droids toddled or rolled along the scuffed floors and squads of stormtroopers marched past adding to Luke’s nervousness.

 

Few spared Fett and his prisoner glances and in the eyes of those who did look their way Luke saw only curiosity for his predicament. There was no sympathy, no empathy, only cold white and grey steel.

 

There were few Kaminoans to be seen in their own city and when Luke slowed to ask why, he was merely pushed forward without an answer.

 

Already tired from the training work out, the forced walk quickly wearied Luke. His limp became more pronounced as his healing muscles and ligaments strained with exertion; his chest wall was feeling tight, constricting his breathing and making him gasp. Fett changed from pushing him, to supporting him through the maze of the city complex.

 

The bounty hunter drew him into a turbolift and Luke’s stomach dropped as the elevator rushed upwards, his knees gave out and Fett caught him before he fell, steadying him without a word. The lift gradually slowed, stopped and the doors slid open.

 

Luke gasped in awe as he hobbled into the corridor. The entire outer wall of the hallway was made of transparisteel and the scene before him astonished him. His pain forgotten, he stepped away from Fett and stood looking down at the immense landing zone and the three Star Destroyers that sat there, hatches open and ramps down. Row after row of thousands of white-clad stormtroopers marched into their vast bellies and out of the raging rain.

 

The sky above was filled with patrolling TIE fighters and the perimeter of the landing zone was protected by dozens of AT-STs. If Luke had ever been in doubt about the might of the Empire, he was now looking at it firsthand.

 

“Come on, Classified,” Fett told him, pulling on his arm and dragging him away from the windows. “It’s not far.”

 

Another few hallways, another turbolift, and Luke found himself stepping into a small apartment with a view across yet another landing pad. This one was tiny in comparison and held just one ship; Slave 1.

 

Fett removed his cuffs and Luke brought his hands forward to rub at the reddened and sore skin. Hobbling forward he fell onto the nearest couch in exhaustion as the bounty hunter cycled the door lock leaving Luke in no doubt that this was his latest prison.

 

“You’ll be sleeping in here,” Fett opened a door showing Luke a cupboard with a temporary cot filling much of the floor space. “You give me any trouble you’ll be in there for the rest of our stay, understand?”

 

Luke unhappily eyed the tiny space, but nodded.

 

Fett gestured to another door. “Fresher’s in there, and I got you some more clothes.”

 

“Thanks,” Luke told him, dryly.

 

Fett laughed as he turned and entered the small kitchenette area. “Don’t thank me, kid. I’m adding it to Vader’s bill.”

 

ooOOoo

 

Darth Vader strode down the ramp of the shuttle and stepped onto the deck plates of the Executor’s hanger bay. He had been impressed with the progress that had been made to his new command ship, was eager to tour her decks to find out exactly what she was capable off. But first there was the posturing and the pageantry of his greeting by his new Admiral.

 

Ozzel stood before him with the rest of command staff at his back. There were lines of black clad TIE pilots and security staff, rows of Stormtroopers and grey clad-technicians and it crossed the Dark Lord’s mind to wonder who was doing the work on the ship at that moment as it seemed that every crew member and construction worker must surely be present.

 

“My Lord Vader,” Ozzel bowed his head. “Welcome to the Executor, I am pleased to report that we are ahead of schedule and will...”

 

“Has the Emperor’s travel itinerary been forwarded to you?” Vader walked on, ignoring the waiting men and Ozzel had to turn on his heel and walk quickly to first catch and then keep up with the Dark Lord.

 

The rest of the bridge crew followed behind.

 

“Uh... yes, My Lord. The tour begins with the remains of Alderaan where his Majesty will...”

 

Vader was in no mood for a full disclosure of the Emperor’s travel plans. He was only interested in one thing. “When are we to meet him at Kamino?”

 

Ozzel flushed with annoyance, but he wisely bit back his ire. “We are to rendezvous with the Emperor’s fleet in four weeks, my Lord, and...”

 

Vader abruptly stopped and turned to the smaller man. “Have the ship at Kamino in three weeks.”

 

“My Lord, the ship will not have been finished being fitted in that time. Some of the crew quarters are...”

 

Vader drew on what little patience he had. This man was Palpatine’s and it would not be prudent to act rashly at this point. However, he knew that all communication via sub-space or other means with regards to the Emperor’s travel plans was strictly forbidden for reasons of security. Ozzel would be unable to alert Palaptine’s fleet to the Executor’s movements without disobeying his own master’s strict instructions.

 

“These are minor details that can be completed in flight. I am eager to test the Executor’s engines and our journey to Kamino will provide that opportunity. Any flaws or faults can be remedied before the Emperor arrives. I am sure he will want to see the ship at her best since she will be representing him throughout the Galaxy.”

 

Ozzel had the good grace to understand the underlying threat and paled. He nervously licked his lips and bowed his head again. “Of course, my Lord Vader.”

 

“Have the Five-Oh-First transferred here from the Devastator,” Vader finished.

 

“I... My Lord we have several divisions of....”

 

Vader remained silent. It didn’t take the Admiral long to get the hint and he quickly nodded his assent. “It shall be done, my Lord.”

 

Vader glanced over the top of the Admiral and spotted a member of the bridge crew watching their exchange with a gentle smile of enjoyment on his face. “Captain?” he asked, prompting the officer to supply his name, intrigued by the scorn that the officer seemed to nurture for his commanding officer.

 

The Captain quickly stepped forward. “Piett, My Lord.”

 

“You will show me to my quarters, Captain Piett, and accompany me as I tour the ship.”

 

The Captain nodded, ignoring the outrage that coloured Ozzel’s cheeks. “As you wish, my Lord.”

 

Vader turned away, dismissing the Admiral and the rest of his entourage and walked from hangar bay with Piett at his side.

 

“Tell me, Captain,” he began as the doors closed behind them. They walked together toward a bank of turbo shafts. “What is to be the purpose of the empty sixteenth deck?”

 

Piett glanced at the Dark Lord, surprise and admiration clear in his features. “You know the schematics well, my Lord.”

 

“I have been watching her construction carefully, Captain, after all she is my ship,” Vader stepped forward into the lift.

 

Piett hurried after him. “Of course, my Lord. The deck is due to be fitted out as civilian cabins in the event that we have to carry...”

 

“Civilians have no place on a warship, Captain,” Vader’s voice darkened. “I will take the deck as my own.”

 

“Of course, my lord,” Piett immediately agreed. “However, your quarters have already been outfitted for you needs.”

 

“I will not be living there,” he explained as the lift began to move. “Have the area secured away from the rest of the ship with a single entry point. The walls throughout are to be reinforced with alusteel, one large area for combat training, a living area and storage for training equipment and droids. All doors will have the same security as detention cells and only I shall have the access codes.”

 

The Dark Lord turned to the smaller man, emphasising. “It will be ready before we reach Kamino and you will discuss it with no-one.”

 

“I....” That one word showed his confusion, but he did not question his Lord. “I will see that it is done, Lord Vader.”

 

“If Ozzel questions the resources used, explain that it is for my private training needs and advise him to come to me.”

 

Piett smiled at the last. “It would be my pleasure, My Lord.”

 

As the doors of the turbo lift opened and he stepped out into the hallway that lead to his quarters the Dark Lord began to relax, began to realise that, perhaps, Palpatine didn’t hold all of the cards, or all of the gaming pieces, after all. Vader now had Piett, who clearly did not favour his Admiral and was willing to work against him. Vader also had the Executor herself and soon the Five-Oh-First would occupy the stormtrooper accommodation.

 

He would reach Kamino first; retrieve and hold his son before the Emperor arrived. He would then bend his knee to Palpatine and explain his actions and play his Mistress of Staves by delivering the boy to his Master.

 

Palpatine would not consider this play, would not consider such a selfless act from his apprentice.

 

_“Anakin.... no!”_

 

He shrugged off the cry of denial in the Force: sharply silenced the memory of Obi-Wan.

 

Vader had tried to save his son from the death sentence served on those deemed to have rebelled. He had tried to hide him from Palpatine, and the last remnants of the Jedi Order. He had planned to train his son covertly...

 

He had failed. Despite his attempts, his Master has discovered his son.

 

Palpatine was greedy: he would not kill Luke. He had taken other Force sensitives, training them to serve him. None of them had matched the power of Vader, however. None of them were a threat to Vader’s position and title. None of them had been Anakin Skywalker’s son: the Chosen One’s son.

 

The Emperor would recognise Luke’s power and potential that the boy held; the unused and uncorrupted nature of the youth. He would crave it, would want it for himself. He would want to take it and mould it into darkness, would want to release it upon the galaxy in the same way that he had released the father. And once Luke had grown, once his power was fouled by Palpatine’s malignancy, his master would pit father against son and take the victor as his apprentice.

 

There was only one way now: only one course of action that could save both him and his son from Palpatine’s wrath and place them in a position to strike against the Emperor without tearing the Empire apart.

 

_“Anakin, please, don’t do this!”_

“Your quarters, my Lord.”

 

 Piett’s announcement drew him from his reverie, banished Obi-Wan’s protestations against his plans.

 

“Return in one hour, Captain and you may show me my command.”

 

Piett bowed his head. “My Lord,” he acknowledged, before turning on his heels and marching away.

 

Vader entered his private quarters noticing the viewport and the Fondor shipyards beyond the transparisteel, seeing the specially commission hyperbaric chamber where he could sit in relative comfort without the need of helmet and mask, the view screen and console through which he could keep in contact with the rest of the ship.

 

He stepped down into the room and crossed to the viewing port to stand against the blackness of space watching the bustle of the yards as crews of droids and men worked on his ship. His eyes saw, but his mind was elsewhere.

 

His son would be his gift to his Master, but the Bounty Hunter would remain his hidden Ace.

 

ooOOoo


	17. Part 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor's tour of the Galaxy continues as Fett gets to know Luke a little better and Vader comes to a rash decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers for this story still apply.

** Part 17 **

 

 

The shuttle shuddered and bounced as it entered the atmosphere hitting the turbulence of a growing storm. Palpatine grinned, thin lips pulling across feral teeth, as he sensed the fear of the crew; fear of him, fear of the storm. It was as it should be – he was arriving in the dark of a storm, the Naboo sunlight hidden behind black clouds. The people waiting for him on the surface below would be huddled and bent low in driving rain and squalling winds.

 

As they should be.

 

He closed his eyes, savouring the feelings from his crew and personnel as he contemplated the next few days. He was visiting his home world, treading the dirt of the planet that he had once represented in the senate. He was here to greet Queen Kylantha, dine and drink fine wine, he was here to remind the people of Naboo of their place and oversee the executions of those who had dared oppose him, who had dared voice rebellion against him.

 

But there was another reason to visit.

 

Padme Amidala.

 

He would visit her tomb, he would be the benevolent ruler, he would greet her family and acknowledge their loss once more. He would join the ceremony to celebrate her life and give a speech on her dedication to the peoples of Naboo.

 

He would stand before her holo effigy and look her in the eye while he spoke his lies.

 

He had never cared for her.

 

He had hated her.

 

Hated her interference, her outspoken passion for the decaying Republic.

 

Hated her influence on Anakin Skywalker, hated how she manipulated the boy, the control that she had exerted over him.

 

He closed his eyes bringing his memories of the past to the fore.

 

But... oh.... how much sweeter was his fall because of her. How much further and deeper he had sank because of her betrayal.

 

All vestiges of Anakin Skywalker had been purged and Vader now existed on his anger and grief and self-loathing.

 

How Palpatine wished that he could have been on Mustafar to watch her pretty face crumple in confusion and horror as Vader had turned on her and had squeezed the air from her body.

 

And looking into the eyes of her hologram on Naboo he was going to tell her what he was going to do to her son.

 

He would tell her how he was going to take possession of her child, twist him, corrupt him and train him in the ways of the Sith, turn him into hatred and rage and loose him upon the Galaxy to murder and burn at his master’s command.

 

Palpatine smiled beneath his cowl. Someday he might even bring the boy to Naboo and stand him before his mother’s tomb, with his mother’s family, and tell him who he was.

 

The shuttle bounced and shuddered again as the landing gear deployed and the ship touched down.

 

Palpatine didn’t move.

 

He remained seated with his eyes closed and his hands folded across lap. He could feel the apprehension mount in the cabin at his stillness, could feel the consternation of those waiting in the howling storm outside as the minutes dragged by.

 

Let them wait.

 

ooOOoo

 

_“Relax Luke, allow the Force to flow.”_

 

“I can’t do it, Ben,” Luke complained.

 

He was sitting crossed legged on his bunk in the dark of the locked closet, blankets tangled around his ankles. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and measured.

 

_“Reach out with your feelings,”_ Ben told him, as though he was just reaching out with his hand to pick something up with his fingers.

 

There was a chuckle, _“It is that simple, Luke.”_

 

Luke sighed with frustration. “It’s dark and my eyes are closed. How am I supposed to know if I have done it?”

 

_“You will feel it,”_ Ben told him with humour and patience.

 

This was harder than the imaginary lightsaber practices, this was harder than the physical exercises the droids had put him through, harder even than the exercises that Ben had added to his daily routine. He could feel his body growing stronger, could feel the muscle building and tighten –if only he could say the same for his grasp of the Force.

 

_“One does not become a Jedi overnight, Luke. It takes years of training and commitment,”_ Obi-Wan explained with a smile to his voice.

 

“Then how am I going to be able to escape Vader?” Luke asked, his voice hoarse with anxiety and hopelessness.

 

_“It is not Vader than you need to escape, Luke. It is Fett and he is no Jedi.”_

 

Luke opened his eyes at that, and stared into the darkness of his prison. “Maybe not,” he said to the enclosed space. “But he’s Boba Fett!”

 

And that one name summed up his predicament.

_“Try it again, Luke. Relax and reach out with your feelings!”_

 

Another sigh, this time one of resignation. Luke closed his eyes and slowly drew in a cooling breath. He cleared his mind of the clutter as Ben had taught him. Gone were the fears about Vader; away went the hunger from his belly, banished were the thoughts of his jailor. His mind was free of thought, his mind was empty, sheer and open.

 

He reached out with his mind and with his hand and felt....

 

... _cloth...._

_...soft and pliable..._

_...it had weight...._

_...substance...._

_.... a smell...._

_... faintly of sweat, of the cleaning detergent in which it was washed..._

... his pillow rise from the bed.

 

He couldn’t help himself: he grinned happily. “I’m doing it!”

 

The pillow dropped to the bed with a soft thump.

 

_“You are doing well, Luke,”_ Obi-Wan praised. _“But you need to maintain your concentration. Do it again.”_

 

Bolstered by his success Luke closed his eyes, cleared his mind and again reached out for his pillow with the Force.

 

ooOOoo

 

Boba Fett stepped from the steaming fresher and grabbed the nearest towel. He dried himself off and dressed, strapping on his ever present weapons belt. Stepping from the fresher cubicle he checked around the small apartment ensuring that he had left nothing lying around the previous evening that the boy could use to his advantage. Satisfied that there was nothing the bounty hunter briefly glanced out at his ship sitting on the landing platform below his rooms.

 

A sense of longing arose within in as he stared at his vessel. She had been sitting there too long, he had been on Kamino too long, had been babysitting sitting Vader’s cargo for too many weeks. He wanted to be on his ship, he wanted to be on the chase, he wanted the danger, the blood rushing thrill of the hunt as he tracked his prey and not this mind numbing, skill killing, sense dulling chore of sitting around babysitting a boy who did nothing but the physiotherapy exercises given to him by the medics and watching the Emperor’s Royal Tour on holonet while biting and picking at his finger nails.

 

Fett smiled; and stuffing his face. The kid could eat!

 

Could this puerile youth really be an agent of the Dark Lord of the Sith?

 

_“You would be wise not to underestimate him.”_

 

Vader’s warning returned to him and he recalled standing in the hold of Slave I looking down upon the battered body of the prisoner. He knew what had been done to the boy, knew the horrors he had endured and yet, he had emerged on the other side relatively intact. That took strength of character, that took guts.

 

Fett considered his thoughts, smiled and shook his head, turning to glance at the locked closet door where his guest currently slept. Perhaps the boy was not as intact as he seemed at first glance. Perhaps the facade of strength was not as deep as he would like, for there were those times when Fett saw him gaze into nothing with glazed eyes, times when he would whisper under his breath, or when he was locked in the closet when he thought Fett could not hear him as he spoke to someone called “Ben” as though that person were in the room with him.

 

Perhaps, his torture had affected his mind after all.

 

_“I saw this reaction in beings with a high midichlorian count, but that does not mean that this boy is Jedi.”_

 

Or perhaps there was another reason for the kid’s strangeness.

 

Taun We had commented on the boy’s natural ability to fight against anaesthetic and had stated that it was something she had witnessed during the Clone Wars with injured Jedi.

 

He grimaced, his mood souring. Damned Jedi.

 

However, if the boy had Force abilities he hid it well.

 

_“You would be wise not to underestimate him.”_

 

Unless he was trained to hide it, unless Vader had warned him to play his part well.

 

_"Remember my words, boy. Do not fail me."_

 

The Dark Lord’s caution to his prisoner, filled with rage and unspoken threat, had left no doubt for the boy whose body had seized in terror. There would be consequences if he failed his master.

 

Fett almost felt pity for him; had witnessed firsthand what happened to those who crossed the Dark Lord.

 

And yet...

 

There was something that still didn’t sit right, didn’t feel right about the boy and Vader. It was the way Vader had changed from calling the boy “it” to “him” as soon as the troopers had left the cargo hold. The way that Vader had warned him to keep the boy safe.

 

_"I will know if any harm comes to him, bounty hunter. I will not be forgiving."_

 

Forgiving....

 

Hardly something you said about an agent.

 

_“Classified”_

The boy had mumbled and slurred the words when Fett had asked him his name and he had maintained that mantra every time Fett had tried to find out his identity. It was always the same, “Classified.”

 

And yet, in the cargo hold when he had pressed further, when the boy had been semi-conscious and suffering the effects of his injuries and dehydration he had said something more.

 

“ _Look...”_

 

And then...

 

_“Vader...”_

 

Again the bounty hunter considered the boy’s words, they could have been a warning to look to Vader, to remember that Vader had cautioned him against asking questions.

 

However, they could also be a name.

 

_“Luke...”_

_“Vader...”_

 

He had dismissed the consideration immediately, but the thought had lingered.

 

Could his cargo be the Dark Lord’s son?

 

Boba smirked, laughed again at the absurd thought. A child of Vader’s would have been raised in riches, would have a polished accent not a rim world drawl. He would have been trained to use his Force abilities, he would have had the best education and the best...

 

A cool pool froze in the pit of Fett’s belly.

 

A child of Vader’s would have had all of that unless that child was had been unknown to his father, unless that child had been conceived away from the centre of the Galaxy.

 

He was still for a moment, looking down at his ship, slick and wet from the rain, glinting in the first rays of sunshine that streamed through the breaking rain clouds.

 

Then he shook his head, laughed aloud at the ludicrous direction his thoughts had taken once more; the Dark Lord of the Sith hiding his love child, hiding an illicit love affair from the Galaxy. Under all that armour, that posturing and threatening, the Dark Lord of the Sith could be a man with the same needs as any other.

 

“Yeah, right,” he dismissed with a snort to the empty room. He cross the floor and unlocked the boy’s door and flicked on the light. “Come on, Luke,” he quipped, “’out the sack.”

 

A pillow dropped to the mattress.

 

The boy, sitting on the cot in just his shorts, ankles entangled in blankets, visibly paled. The blue eyes widened in stunned horror. “What?” he gasped.

 

“What?” Fett echoed, not believing the boy’s reaction, not believing that he had been right about his name, not quite believing that he had seen a pillow drop from mid air.

 

The boy tried to move, tried to get up, but Fett was quicker. He grabbed his captive by the arm and dragged him, blankets and all, into the living area and pushed him onto the couch. He drew his blaster and pointed it at the boy’s head.

 

“Hey!” The kid’s hands were up, a futile defence against a blaster bolt, and his eyes were alternating between the barrel of the gun and Fett’s face.

 

“Who the hell are you,” he paused before saying the name again, making sure.  “Luke?”

 

“I... don’t know what you mean?”

 

“Sure you do, Luke.” Fett’s voice was low, cold.

 

The boy glanced to the side, head cocked once more.

 

Fett reached down, back handing him across the face, bringing his attention back to him. “I don’t know what you’re doing when you do that, but stop it or so help me,” he pointed the gun barrel down at his legs. “I’ll knee cap you right now.”

 

Fear played over the boy’s features, fear and something else; shock and anger. But then it disappeared, was locked down. He licked his lips, placed his hand against his throbbing cheek and looked up at Fett. “Vader won’t be pleased if you harm me.”

 

“You let me worry about Vader,” Boba told him without a care. “It won’t be the first time he and I have had differences. Now answer the friggin’ question. Who are you?”

 

“I...” the boy looked uncertain, looked as though he was searching for an answer he didn’t have himself. “I don’t know.”

 

Fett’s pulled the trigger, blowing a hole in the cushions next to the boy.

 

The boy jumped back and away from the blackened hole. “Please!” He pleaded.

 

“The next shot is for you,” the bounty hunter warned.

 

“I can’t tell you!” The boy shouted, panicked.

 

“Your name’s Luke?”

 

“Yes!” There was no hesitation.

 

“Luke what?”

 

Hesitation, a flicker of an eye to the side and Fett drew off another deliberate shot. The boy yelped, his hands going to the grazing burn on his thigh.

 

“Luke what?”

 

“I can’t!” he screamed, eyes tearing with pain, with terror, with memories of torture and the fear of more.

 

Another shot, another cry of pain as the laser bolt glanced off his other thigh, taking a slice of skin.

 

“Lars! It’s Lars.... please... don’t...”

 

“You’re a Force user.” It was a statement.

 

A quick shake of his head. “No, I...”

 

The blaster moved again, again hands were thrown up.

 

“Yes! I mean... I can feel the Force at times, but I can’t really use it.”

 

“It looked like you were using it just fine,” Fett told him, his voice a warning and his finger tightening on the trigger.

 

ooOOo

 

Gasping in pain and panic Luke stared down the barrel of the gun. The agonizing burns on his thighs bringing tears to his eyes, spinning him back to the hours of torture he had suffered only a few short weeks ago.  He hated this, hated feeling helpless and afraid, hated being at the mercy of another and he couldn’t help but fear that Fett was just as capable of inflicting as much pain and terror on him as his Imperial tormentor on the Death Star.

 

_“Be calm, Luke,”_ Ben cautioned, gravely. _“Beware of your feelings; hatred, anger and fear lead only to darkness. Use what Vader told you, use what he told Fett.”_

 

Luke resisted moving his head in response to Ben’s words, resisted moving his eyes away from the blaster pointing at him, the finger squeezing the trigger. He had provoked Fett enough. But how was he to use Vader’s words, how was he to get the bounty hunter to back off without being injured further?

 

_“You are my... agent, an undercover operative.”_

All this time, with Ben’s help, he had been pretending. Perhaps he could pretend some more. Licking his lips he forced saliva into his dry mouth, forced himself to portray a calmness he did not feel, forced a confidence that was foreign to him and answered Fett.

 

 “If he knew what I’d been doing he would kill me.”

 

 Fett’s eyes narrowed. “Vader?”

 

Luke nodded, keeping his eyes on Fett rather than on the blaster still pointing his way. His heart was hammering, blood rushing. He swallowed, not knowing if what he was doing was the right thing, if it would result in Fett backing off, or in Fett pulling the trigger again.

 

_“Trust your instincts.”_

 

He couldn’t help but smile at Ben’s whispered words: his instincts were telling him to move, to get up and run away. Seeing Fett frown at the smirk he covered it up with a wider smile and a shrug, a nonchalance he did not feel.

 

“He’ll probably kill me anyway,” he said casually, as though his death was inevitable and meant nothing, “Now that you know what I am.”

 

_“Be careful, Luke.”_

 

“What you are?” Fett echoed, his voice piqued with curiosity.

 

“I’m whatever he wants me to be,” Luke told him desolately, feeling some truth behind his words, even although he didn’t quite understand where that truth came from. “Whatever he needs me to be.”

 

The blaster lowered a few millimetres, the finger relaxed on the trigger and Luke could hardly believe his ruse was working. He lowered his own hands, feeling that the danger was passing.

 

“And your last mission,” Fett said, still checking, still wanting to know more. “Where you got into that restricted area and let something out that you shouldn’t have, what were you then?”

 

_“Consider your words, Luke, do not give him reason to doubt you.”_

 

Flinching at the throbbing of his wounds he answered Fett through gritted teeth. “If I tell you that, he’ll definitely kill me.”

 

Fett flashed him a smile. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll kill you.”

 

Luke took heart at the humour in Fett’s voice and knew that, despite the bounty hunter’s words there was no intent behind them – after all he would forfeit his payment as well as his life if he were to kill his cargo and Fett was ever the business man.

 

Wincing, he shifted his weight on the couch, trying to ease the pain of his burns as his mind raced to fit a story into the events of the last few weeks. “I was a lure.”

 

“For what?”

 

Luke smiled, playing on Fett’s prejudices. “A Jedi.”

 

The bounty hunter stiffened at the word, the blaster rose. “You said your mission failed.”

 

Alarmed, Luke shook his head, “No, I said I failed to escape, not that my mission failed,” his voice turned cold, hoarse. “The Jedi died.”

 

“Anyone I knew?” Fett sounded amused, pleased.

 

Luke had no idea if Fett had known Ben. “Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

 

“Kenobi!” Fett laughed, incredulously, disbelief underscoring every word. “You killed Kenobi?”

 

“No.... Vader did,” Anger forced the words out. Luke wanted to close his eyes, wanted to shut out the memory of Vader’s saber slicing into Ben, wanted to shut away the horror of that hangar bay on the Death Star, sorry that he was using Ben’s death in this way.

 

_“You are doing well, Luke.”_

 

Fett silently stared at him for a few seconds, he then abruptly dropped his blaster into its holster. Turning away he disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a medi-pac. He tossed it at Luke as he sat on the couch opposite. “Tell me more.”

 

 Opening the medi-pac Luke rummaged through it for the bacta dressings, giving himself some time to think, knowing that he had to say something despite Vader’s warnings. Tearing open the bacta packaging with his teeth, he placed a soaking pad against each thigh burn and sighed in relief as the cool healing bacta gel soothed his scorched skin.

 

“Kenobi was traced to Tatooine,” Luke explained, making things up as he bandaged his legs. “Since it was my home planet Vader placed me there to make contact with him in the hope of infiltrating the Rebellion and drawing him out. While I was there the Imperials had traced rebel owned droids to the planet. They contained information that the Princess Organa was trying to get to the Alliance. I intercepted them.”

 

He glanced up to see if Fett was listening and the bounty hunter motioned at him to continue.

 

“One of them managed to override his restraining bolt and I went looking for him. I was attacked by Sand People and Kenobi rescued me,” he continued, telling the truth. “To cut a long story short we agreed to take the droids to the Rebellion, we booked passage and headed to Alderaan.”

 

“It’s gone,” Fett told him, coldly.

 

Luke nodded. “So we found out, but the space station that destroyed it was still there. We were pulled in, discovered that the Princess was being held there and decided to rescue her. I thought it would be good for my cover. Be...”

 

_“Be careful, Luke!”_

_“..._ before we could make our escape Obi-Wan was killed and I was shot by Vader’s men. Vader wasn’t happy… wasn’t happy that I had been unable to follow through and infiltrated the rebellion... he... had me questioned as a rebel as punishment before stepping in and getting me out.”

 

Luke trailed off, glanced at Fett as he sealed the last dressing on his legs, hopeful that Fett hadn’t noticed his slip. He had almost called Obi-Wan ‘Ben,’ a name that had already been picked up by the bounty hunter due to his unconscious ramblings.

 

Fett rubbed at his chin, contemplating his young guest’s words. “Just one thing... you called them “Imperials” and “Vader’s men,” which suggests that you’re something different.”

 

A knotted ball of anxiety twisted in Luke’s stomach as he realised his mistakes. “I am,” he told his host covering up the holes in the story as best he could. “Why do think he hid me with you?” Impulsively, instinctively, he reached for the remote control for the holonet and turned it on. The screen filled with scenes of the Emperor stepping out of a shuttle onto rain and wind swept duracrete, where a crowd of dignitaries dressed in drenched finery and regalia waited to greet him.

 

Fett looked to the scenes and then to Luke as understanding slipped home. “You’re Force sensitive.... and the Emperor hasn’t sanctioned you...” He was thinking aloud. “He doesn’t know about you. You’re Vader’s... student?”

 

Luke nodded allowing Fett his train of thought, feeling sick to his stomach at the words, at the very idea of training under the man who had murdered his father: wondering if this was the real reason for Vader saving his life, wondering how he could possibly stand against the wishes of the Dark Lord when the time came.

 

Fett unclipped something from his belt and rose. “Hold out your hands.”

 

Luke eyed the stun cuffs in Fett’s grasp with dismay. “You don’t need those,” he reassured him with some trepidation.

 

“I’ve known Jedi and Sith, I’m not taking any chances,” Boba took Luke’s wrists and closed the cuffs around them activating the power cell. “Give me any trouble and these will drop you like an Eopie hit with a stun stick.”

 

Luke watched Fett affix the control unit for the cuffs to his belt, briefly wondering if he had the skill to lift it and remove it with the Force. “I haven’t given you any trouble...” he said, sourly.

 

Fett grinned. “Not yet,” he agreed, “but I have a feeling that you are going to be nothing but trouble.”

 

ooOOoo

 

Vader lifted his head, looked up at the vaulted ceiling on the vast training arena as the last of the durasteel panelling was bolted into place. He smiled beneath his mask, pleased by the work that had been completed within his tight time scale. Beside him he felt Ozzel shift uneasily, the Admiral’s feet scuffing through the debris of dust and metal shavings.

 

“My Lord,” Ozzel tried, his tones clipped with impatience. “I am... unsure of the Emperor’s reaction to this...” he searched for a word, “...project. This deck was...”

 

Vader tempered his response, fought to control his anger, his dislike for Palpatine’s choice of Admiral. “The Executor is _my_ ship, Admiral. A gift to me from the Emperor and I shall do with it as I please.”

 

“With all due respect, Lord Vader, we all in the service of his Majesty, including the Executor.”

 

A tight ball of fury flamed within Vader at the Admiral’s audacity, at the man’s unspoken suggestion. His fists tightened as he tried to reign in his anger. He turned on the man, his mask mere inches from Ozzel’s face.

 

“You forget your place, Admiral,” he told him tightly, hissing through his vocoder. “I need no reminding of whom I serve. I suggest that you...”

 

A blast of cold fear thrilled through the Force, stilling his words. He turned from the Admiral, wincing as muted pain tingled through the remnants of flesh on his thighs, as desperation rippled across the surface of his senses.

 

“My... my Lord...?”

 

Vader held his hand up, silencing Ozzel and reached out, searching through the Force for his hidden son.

 

Luke was hurt, scared and yet...

 

...there was a sense of relief, of deception, an undercurrent of quiet...

 

...power...

 

Something had happened to Luke, something that had caused panic and pain, something that had flared within the Force and something that his son had controlled.

 

He smiled, feeling pride. His son was growing stronger, his presence within the Force growing brighter, more vivid. Such a brilliant radiance, pulsing within darkness, its edges tinged with penumbra, a shadow, a shading of uncertainty.

 

His smile fell away. If he had felt it, then he was certain that Palpatine would have felt it, too.

 

“Admiral Ozzel, set an immediate course for Kamino.”

 

Shock and surprise surged from Ozzel. “My Lord, we are not scheduled for....”

 

“Now, Admiral!” Vader barked, turning to stride away, heading for the bridge. He stepped across the doorway and into the hallway.

 

“My Lord!” Ozzel cried, scuttling quickly after the Dark Lord. “The Emperor...”

 

With a flick of his hand Vader brought the blast doors crashing down before Ozzel could step through and shorted out the controls.

 

He knew he was acting hastily, rashly and against all rational thought. He smiled, but were those not the times when everything had fallen into place? Were those not the times when victory had been assured? When orders had been ignored and discarded had he not always survived the overwhelming odds set against him and come out triumphant?

 

_“Anakin, remember Geonosis, remember Mustafar.”_

 

As he stepped into a waiting turbolift, as the doors closed and the carriage lifted him toward the bridge, he chose to ignore his inner voice, chose to ignore the warning of his dead teacher.

 

His son was all that mattered.

 

ooOOoo

To be continued....


	18. Part 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor issues new a new command and Boba Fett is becoming restless...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting just to let folks know that it is still very much a WIP and has not been abandoned....
> 
> All previous disclaimers still apply....

** Part 18 **

 

The large chamber was in darkness. An absolute blackness, one so dark that one’s eyes were useless, blinded. However, the Force could see through it, the Force could penetrate the gloom and bring the outline of the room into relief, could highlight the contours of the sparse area and mark a clear path for him to walk.

 

It was an exercise he enjoyed. Steeping himself in darkness both spiritually and physically as he walked his apartments on the Star Destroyer. The Force closed itself about him, ever deeper, ever darker and along his bone thin fingers blue light flickered as he grinned.

 

The peoples of Naboo had bent their knees once more. Their young Queen had stood aside as his troopers had searched its towns and cities, including Theed, and dragged her people from their homes to answer accusations of treason and rebellion.

 

She had stood by his side and quietly wept as many were executed and then kneeled before him to pledge her planet’s loyalty to the Empire to spare her people from further tragedy.

 

_How naïve…_

 

He had then paid his respects to Amidala, had stood with the surviving members of her terrified family as he had lied about his admiration of her, of her compassion and grace while his thoughts dwelled on her secret son; their grandson and nephew.

 

Padme would never have capitulated. She would never have kneeled to him, she would have fought and argued against the oppression of her people. In some ways it was a pity she was no longer here to fight for her child, the battle with her might have been more fulfilling than the approaching battle with her widowed husband.

 

Palpatine’s mouth turned down with anger, the lightening playing around his knuckles sparking in the darkness.

 

Lord Vader was an entirely different creature. He was a shadow of the young man who had kneeled before him and pledged himself to the Dark Side. His vibrancy within the Force had diminished and dimmed over the years and he had become embittered and resentful. He had lost everything that had made him such an attraction; his appeal, his passion and power, his dazzling presence in the Force had been set adrift by guilt and loss.

 

But… Oh… Vader’s anger those first few years since Amidala’s death had been a fire across the star systems as he took his bloody vengeance on the few remaining Jedi Knights and Padawans. His apprentice had torn a Galaxy apart hunting for his former comrades and his pleasure and pain in cutting each one down thrilled his master.

 

But now... now Vader was a lumbering, dull, husk dutifully fulfilling his master’s bidding, rarely failing, but feeling none of the passion of his youth...

 

... except that wasn’t entirely true anymore.

 

There was the son.

 

The son that had ignited a spark within the Dark Lord, a spark that had now flamed into open defiance. He could feel the shift in the Force, the convoluting vortex of possibilities that twisted and turned around his apprentice.

 

He smiled, would Vader fight for his son?

 

His smile grew, turning to a grin. Would the son fight for the father who had tormented him, or would he turn against him?

 

Stepping through the dark room Palpatine activated the comm. The large screen burst to life catching his Fleet Admiral’s attention.

 

“Your Excellency,” the man acknowledged with a bow. “We have departed Naboo and co-ordinates for Sullust are be...”

 

“Set course for Kamino,” Palpatine sharply interrupted.

 

There was a flicker of hesitation, fleeting confusion about the command silently played across the man’s face. However, it went unspoken; his subordinates knew better than to question him.

 

“As you command, Excellency.”

 

He switched the comm. off, once more plunging the room into utter darkness.

 

ooOOoo

 

 

Another TIE passed by the window, so close this time that the transparisteel vibrated. Fett frowned as he lifted the power cell of his blaster and fitted it back into place, clicking the safety off as he eased himself up from the couch and crossed the room to the window.

 

He could feel the boy take note of his actions, could almost feel the youth’s tension rise with his own. He gazed out over the rolling oceans as sunlight broke through the cloud cover to glint off the fuselages of the patrolling TIE fighters. He glanced over the city, to the nearest walk ways, to the landing platforms and balustrades, feeling anxiety roil in his belly at the noticeable increase in stormtroopers and scout walkers patrolling the areas.

 

Something was going on. It might have nothing to do with the kid, it might have everything to do with him, and still he had heard no more from Vader.

 

He looked down at Slave 1, looking slick and ready on the landing platform, and ran his escape route to the ship through his head. Hell, if he had to make a fast exit he could blaster out the window, shoot a line across and slide down it. Although, how he would manage that with Classified…

 

_….Luke…_

 

…in tow was anyone’s guess.

 

“What’s wrong?” the boy sounded nervous, as he bit the edges of a finger nail. Both hands up at his mouth due to the stun-cuffs around his wrists.

 

“Maybe nothing,” Fett told him, taking in his appearance of sleep pants and bare feet, “probably just manoeuvres, drills, but there’s a lot of activity across the city. You’d best get dressed.”

 

Luke’s eyebrows lifted in amusement and he spread his palms open indicating the cuffs. “Little help?”

 

Fett reached to his belt and thumbed the attached cuff-control. The binders unlocked and clattered to the floor. “Now, go get dressed.”

 

The boy sighed, answered bitterly, “Yes, sir.”

 

Luke got up, limped to his cupboard; his blast injuries from two days before were still healing and still seemed to be bothering him. But Fett was sure the kid was acting, was sure he was trying to lull him into believing the flesh wounds were hindering him still.

 

His actions had worked, though. There had been no more episodes of strange whispers, no more pillows floating across the room, but the tension between them had been palpable and he had kept the boy in night attire, confined to the closet and shackled to his cot for much of time since just to be sure that Luke had got the message.

 

The bounty hunter turned back to the window and to the growing Imperial activity in Tipoca city.

 

The sooner Vader contacted him the better.

 

ooOOoo

To be continued.....


End file.
